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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497048">godsend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbandaid/pseuds/ratbandaid'>ratbandaid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, No Beta, Panic Attacks, Sibling Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, crybaby felix fraldarius............</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:08:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>63,745</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbandaid/pseuds/ratbandaid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout his life, Sylvain keeps seeing a winged boy named Felix, particularly at times when he's in danger. </p><p>-----</p><p>A guardian angel sylvix fic!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sylvix Squad Super Stories</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. first impressions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I keep starting WIPs without ever finishing anything.. ^^;; I guess that being in quarantine makes it easier for my mind to wander instead of wanting to concentrate on just one story at a time, like I probably should. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this story!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sylvain first sees him when he’s six.</p>
<p>It’s a cold and blustery winter day, but that’s rather typical of the Gautier region. His father and mother are sitting in on some sort of adult conference thing that Sylvain doesn’t really get. He had been ushered out of the room when the adults started talking about something with politics and laws and all that, being told that he’d learn about it when he’s older—perhaps starting the next year when he’s a little more developed and ready to start learning more advanced things about Fodlan. Miklan had also been ushered out of the room, but for a completely different reason.</p>
<p>Miklan had begrudgingly stepped out of the room, arms crossed and fury written all over his face. Sylvain really wants nothing to do with that. He knows how Miklan can get when he’s mad. So he decided that he’d lie in front of the fireplace and read one of his favorite books while he waits for his parents to come out of the meeting so that they can eat dinner together. It’s a nice read, with a cozy atmosphere. Cuddled up with his favorite Gautieron cat, he’s almost lulled into a nice nap.</p>
<p>A sharp nudge draws Sylvain out of his drowsy state. In a second, Sylvain had whipped upwards, sat upright, and turn to face his older brother.</p>
<p>“Let’s go outside.” Miklan doesn’t look all that excited, but Sylvain has a bad feeling that if he insists on staying home, Miklan is going to drag him out anyway.</p>
<p>So Sylvain agrees, getting up onto his feet. “Okay, but I wanna get my jacket first.”</p>
<p>“Hurry up,” Miklan grunts and heads for his spot on the rug, where he had left his earmuffs, gloves, and his scarf.</p>
<p>Sylvain scrambles up into his room and pulls out a thick sweater sent to him from his friend Ingrid, a fluffy coat from his favorite auntie, and a pair of really nice gloves that match his scarf that had been gifted to him from the royal family. Sylvain stuffs his feet into his boots and joins Miklan at the door, tugging his beanie over his head.</p>
<p>Sylvain follows Miklan outside. Immediately, a chill runs across both of them, and Sylvain rubs his arms with his gloved hands. Miklan hardly reacts, only squinting his eyes against the strong winter winds. Neither of them speak so Sylvain focuses on the wintery wonderland around him, exhaling little huffs of air and smiling at the thought of himself secretly being an all-powerful dragon. He also enjoys the crunching of the snow beneath his feet, even if he can hardly hear it through his earmuffs and over the sound of the vicious wind.</p>
<p>“What do you wanna play?” Sylvain asks, finally breaking the silence. He feels like they’ve been walking for quite a while now, just meandering around in the backyard. He notices that Miklan hasn’t brought one of the wooden sleds or a snow shovel. He hasn’t even brought along a bucket for them to build a small igloo with.</p>
<p>“I actually want to see something.” Miklan leads Sylvain to the large well in the backyard. He stops beside it, and Sylvain slows his steps as he approaches the well. “I heard that there was a cat stuck down there.”</p>
<p>Sylvain frowns. “A cat?” He waddles over to the well and places his hands on the stones forming the rim of it. He pushes himself up against the well, peers in a little, and squints. It’s dark, but he can’t see anything. He hops down and looks over at Miklan. “I don’t see a cat.”</p>
<p>“You sure? I swear I heard it meowing this morning.” Miklan looks over into the well. “Look, it’s right there.”</p>
<p>Sylvain hoists himself up and pushes himself a little further over the edge of the well, tightly gripping the stones. Just as he opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t see the cat, he feels a pair of strong hands at his back.</p>
<p>Sylvain lets out a shriek as he tumbles into the seemingly never-ending darkness. His screams mockingly follow him down, down, <em>down.</em> When Sylvain finally stops falling, it’s because he’s hit a layer of ice and crashed through it, plunging into ice cold water. He frantically kicks his legs, his teeth chattering and his body trembling. With every passing second, he feels it getting harder and harder to move, the chilling water weighing down his already-heavy winter clothes. He looks up at Miklan.</p>
<p>“M-M-Miklan!” he wails, tears bubbling up to his eyes. At least his crying is bringing some heat to his frigid face. “Miklan, h-help!”</p>
<p>“Oops,” Miklan deadpans back, staring down at him from the opening of the well, several meters above. “Here, catch.” Miklan unsheathes a sword and chops the rope holding a wooden bucket at the top of the well. The bucket tumbles down towards Sylvain and narrowly misses hitting his head. Sylvain grips the bucket, but it does very little to help him—in fact, it doesn’t even float. It sinks like a rock. Sylvain quickly lets go of it to stay afloat.</p>
<p>“Miklan!” Sylvain screams at the top of his lungs. “This isn’t funny!”</p>
<p>“I think it’s pretty funny.” Miklan gives him a wicked grin. “Anyway, have fun looking for that kitty down there.” Miklan gives him a lazy wave and pushes away from the well.</p>
<p>Sylvain screams and screams until his throat burns and his voice starts to feel raspy. His clothes are finally weighing him down. Sylvain has to wriggle out of his big, fluffy coat, even though it was from his favorite auntie and it kept him warm through the icy well-water. As soon as the jacket comes off, it slowly starts to sink to the bottom of the well. Sylvain shivers violently and takes off his scarf and gloves. The scarf had started to feel suffocating, and the gloves were making it harder to push the water out of his way. With each article of winter clothes he tosses off, Sylvain feels colder and colder. But none of the weather or the well-water’s icy chill could compare to the hurt settling in his chest.</p>
<p><em>No matter how loud I scream</em>, Sylvain thinks as he weakly claws at the stone walls of the well, attempting to pull himself out, <em>no one will hear me. No one’s coming to save me. No one loves me.</em> Sylvain chokes back a sob and lets out one, last desperate cry for help before his nails start to chip against the stones. He plummets back into the frigid water.</p>
<p>He tries to scale the wall about two more times, falling back into the water both times. His fingers are starting to bleed from how hard he’s trying to maintain his slippery grip, and the tips of his fingernails are looking ragged, rough, and royal blue with blood seeping out from a few cuts caused by the rocks. At this point, it hurts to even bend his fingers.</p>
<p>Sylvain wonders if he should just stop trying. His mother and father are too busy attending to all of the Gautier lands and the important issues surrounding its people, working with the other nobles who had been invited to their house. Miklan clearly wasn’t going to search for someone to pull him out. And all the maids and servants were too busy bustling about the house, trying to make the home look nice and tidy for the guests.</p>
<p><em>Somebody,</em> Sylvain thinks as the cold finally catches up to him. He trembles and can hardly feel his fingers or toes anymore. <em>Ingrid, Mother, Father—please, </em>somebody,<em> save me.</em></p>
<p>Sylvain is finally giving up hope when he, in a desperate prayer to the gods, looks up at the mouth of the well, sees a boy around his age peering down at him. He hasn’t ever seen this boy around before—he doesn’t recognize the odd robes he wears or the long dark hair. Even so, Sylvain’s heart is filled with the slightest bit of hope, and he musters up enough strength to call out to him.</p>
<p>“Help! Please! Please..." Sylvain can't hlep but to feel that this boy is going to find it funny that he's stuck in a well, like Miklan did, and leave him there to freeze or sink and eventually <em>die.</em></p>
<p>Instead, the boy’s face contorts into one of pity. He silently pulls himself over the mouth of the well, sitting on the stones there briefly before dropping himself in too. Sylvain wants to cry—how can he save Sylvain if he gets stuck in the well too? But then, a spark of light draws his thoughts away, and the despair clouding his thoughts fades as he sees a pair of pure, white wings spread from the boy’s back.</p>
<p>He descends quickly down the well and stops before Sylvain, his wings moving to keep him in the air. He doesn’t say much, curiously eyeing him up and down. Then he holds his arms out. Sylvain doesn’t hesitate drawing himself into the boy’s arms.</p>
<p>"You’re heavy,” the boy grumbles, but he manages to fish Sylvain out of the water and start to fly him up towards the mouth of the well. Sylvain trembles and presses himself into the boy’s robes. The boy shivers violently. “And cold.”</p>
<p>Sylvain doesn’t even bother giving him a response, tiredly sobbing.</p>
<p>“Hey, um, d-don’t cry! You’re okay now!” The boy pats Sylvain’s head and pulls away from the embrace. He perches on the top of the well. His wings fold neatly behind his back and practically blend in with his robes, looking like they simply disappeared against his back. </p>
<p>“Am I dead?” Sylvain asks quietly. His eyes stay fixated on the boy and his pretty long hair and his marmalade-colored eyes and his wings. There's no human that Sylvain's ever met who's looked like this. Isn't it reasonable to assume that he's dead and seeing strange spirits now? Awed, he simply gawks at Felix.</p>
<p>“Dead?” The boy cocks his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He makes a face. “If you died, then Glenn would get really upset with me.”</p>
<p>"Glenn?” Sylvain’s never heard of a ‘Glenn.’ “Who are you?”</p>
<p>The boy smiles at him. “I’m Felix! And I’m—”</p>
<p>“Master Sylvain?!”</p>
<p>Sylvain looks over to his home, where a maid, carrying a bucket—probably to draw some water from the well—comes running over with her eyes as big as dinner plates. He can’t help it. He bursts into tears as she comes over and quickly wraps him in her thin shawl.</p>
<p>"Oh! Oh dear, you’re drenched! You’re going to catch quite the cold! Where’s your coat? And your gloves?” she tuts. “What happened, dear?” When Sylvain can’t stop crying for a second to even answer her question, she scowls. “That dreaded Miklan! He did this to you, didn't he? Why, that cruel, little hellion!” curses she. The maid tosses the bucket aside into the surrounding snow and scoops Sylvain up into her arms. “Let’s get you warmed up, you poor thing.”</p>
<p>Sylvain sniffles and looks around for the boy, Felix, wanting the maid to invite him in too—after all, the Gautier winters are ruthless and the boy should get some sort of reward for helping him out of the well.</p>
<p>But the winged boy is nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Needless to say, even though Sylvain didn’t explicitly say that Miklan had thrown him in the well, his parents found out and were angry with Miklan—to say that they were just “angry” would be the understatement of the century. They were absolutely apoplectic with rage. That night, Sylvain could hardly sleep—even if he crawled under the sheets, even if he started reading one of his favorite books, even if he started to hum one of his favorite lullabies to himself. The sounds of his father and mother screaming at Miklan, Miklan shouting something back and crying, and the unmistakable sound of his father’s hand repeatedly and severely striking someone were too much to block out. He couldn’t sleep even long after his parents and Miklan stopped arguing; the sound of Miklan’s pitiful, heart-wrenching, wretched sobs in the room next door kept him up all night. Sylvain couldn’t help crying too.</p>
<p>On behalf of himself.</p>
<p>On behalf of Miklan.</p>
<p>On behalf of this horrible, Crest-dependent world.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>"He had kind of long hair, and it ended around here.” Sylvain puts his hands out near his shoulders in an approximation of how long that odd winged boy’s hair was. “And—and his wings were feathery and white and kind of small, but they were strong and he carried us both out of the well!”</p>
<p>His parents don’t believe him, but quite frankly, they don’t really seem to care.</p>
<p>“What a lovely dream,” his mother muses, sipping her tea. “I’ve always liked the idea of angels. Oh, it must be so nice to just fly away.” Her eyes take on a faraway look.</p>
<p>“You were hallucinating,” his father deadpans, stabbing a slab of bacon with his fork without even bothering to look up at Sylvain. “The shock and the cold must have gotten to your head, boy.” Sylvain can’t really make out what he mutters under his breath, but he hears something about ‘girl angels’ that earns a soft giggle from his mother.</p>
<p>His parents carry on, talking about adult-things as though nothing ever happened. Sylvain aches to keep talking about the winged boy—to prove that he’s real somehow—but he knows his place. He knows how much his father can take before he snaps, and he knows when it's best to just be quiet and sit there. He pushes his eggs around on his plate with his fork and casts a fearful glance to his left, where...</p>
<p>Miklan is very noticeably absent. The table isn't set. Even the placemat isn't there. His parents don’t say anything, don’t even bat an eye, don’t even <em>care.</em></p>
<p>Sylvain doesn’t feel so hungry anymore.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>“Come on, Sylvain!” Ingrid shouts, pulling his arm. “Your backyard has more room than the training grounds! Let’s play there!”</p>
<p>Dimitri smiles at the two of them. “The training grounds has all the weapons, Ingrid,” he pipes up.</p>
<p>“We can just carry them over. Come on, Sylvain! Get up already!”</p>
<p>Sylvain doesn’t have the heart to tell her he’s terrified of the backyard, terrified of the dark, cold pit dwelling within the innocent-looking well, terrified of people insisting to ‘play’ because he knows they’ll try to hurt him like Miklan did.</p>
<p>Instead, he shakes away his concerns and puts a little faith in his friends. He forces himself to nod at Dimitri. “The training grounds has all the weapons,” he echoes quietly, ignoring how he can feel Miklan’s glare searing holes into the back of his head from his bedroom window, two stories up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. lost together (you and me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain sees the boy again, not long after the well incident.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>About two months after the well incident, during the humid spring of the Great Tree Moon, Sylvain’s parents are asked by the royal family to go to Sreng and settle a few border-related disputes that have been emerging. None of the Gautiers had particularly been excited about this trip, but Margravine Gautier had been rather optimistic about it, much to the chagrin of nearly everyone else. As their carriage teeters and totters up the rocky roads towards Sreng, Margravine Gautier smiles at Sylvain.</p><p>“Isn’t this nice?” she asks. “It’s like a family trip up to the mountains!” Her gaze stays trained on Sylvain, never moving to the left where Miklan sits. “Your father and I might be a little busy, but you can still have fun here, Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain smiles a little at his mother, though the dread encompassing his heart overwhelms him to the point of feeling nauseous. He doesn’t want to be left alone with Miklan. Being pushed into a well and nearly dying was already terrifying enough; who knows what Miklan is planning to do here, miles and miles away from home?</p><p>Despite his apprehension, Sylvain can’t help but to feel a little bad for Miklan. Ever since that day, Miklan has been quiet and almost constantly covered in bruises and bandages, sloppy stuck onto wounds as if he had done it himself. He’s been paler, gaunter, and he’s been getting dirty looks from just about everyone. Sylvain knows that he hasn’t been getting much to eat either because he’s caught Miklan sneaking downstairs to grab food from the kitchen when everyone else is supposed to be asleep.</p><p>Sylvain had offered to help him once, quietly following him to the kitchen.</p><p>“Miklan,” he whispered, and Miklan nearly jumped a foot in the air before he whirled around to give Sylvain a vicious glare, his shoulders tense and his jaw set. “Um, I can bring you food, if you want.”</p><p>Miklan’s glare turned even darker, his eyes narrowing and his nose scrunching up. “Did you come here just to taunt me?” he snarled. “Get lost, you spoiled brat. I don’t want your fucking help. This is all <em>your </em>fault anyway.”</p><p>Sylvain had quickly retreated back to his room after that encounter, trying to be as quiet but as fast as possible. He didn’t want to risk waking his parents and getting Miklan in even more trouble because that would just make an even angrier Miklan—but the smallest part of him wanted to, just out of spite. From that night on, even if he heard Miklan’s door creak open and even if he heard Miklan’s footsteps echoing down the empty halls as he snuck around the house, Sylvain stayed in his room and minded his own business.</p><p>When the carriage finally pulls into the rendezvous spot for Margrave Gautier and the representative from Sreng, all the pleasantries are exchanged. Margravine Gautier and Margrave Gautier are shown a nice place for their family to stay for the night after the meeting and are ushered away to a conference room. Before they leave, Margravine Gautier stops in front of Sylvain and fixes his hair.</p><p>“We’ll be back in a few hours. You can wander around, but just make sure to come in time for dinner. And don’t make an embarrassment of the Gautiers, hmm?” She pats his cheek twice and tugs at the collar of his shirt to properly flatten it out. “Be good now.” At the Margrave’s discontent grumble, she hops up and quickly joins him, waving at Sylvain from the doorway before they leave. His father eyes him and nods tersely before leaving.</p><p>The tension in the room between him and Miklan is palpable. He can feel Miklan staring at him, and he can feel the stares from the servants standing around. It’s like everyone is waiting for Sylvain to do something. But there isn’t anything for him to do. He had finished reading the book he brought along while they were in the carriage, and he doesn’t quite know what there is to do around here.</p><p>“Hey. Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain involuntarily flinches and turns to face Miklan. His expression is calm, even. Sylvain does his best to keep his own expression that way.</p><p>“I think that… I never apologized for the other day. With the well.” Miklan averts his gaze. “So. Um, sorry. I really meant it as a joke.”</p><p>Sylvain blinks owlishly. “A joke?”</p><p>“Yeah. It wasn’t that funny though, huh?” Miklan gives Sylvain a smile, a sheepish one. “So, I’m sorry. How about I make up for it? Do you wanna go out and play? I mean it this time.”</p><p>Sylvain feels his hopes rising. His brother had apologized for something that he had done, something that hadn’t been prompted—at least to his knowledge—by their parents. And now, he wants to play together for real. Though he’s excited, he feels a little wary. Miklan seems like he sees it.</p><p>“Come on, Sylvain. I’m serious. We’ll go down to the market and get some snacks first. I saw some of those tarts you like. I’ll buy you some. Just don’t tell Mom or Dad.” Miklan holds his hand out for Sylvain, and Sylvain finally gives in.</p><p>The tension in the room eases as Sylvain beams and grabs Miklan’s hand, letting his older brother lead him out the door. Miklan doesn’t say much as they leave—but Sylvain hasn’t really ever seen him speak other than when spoken to, or if no one was around. Sylvain doesn’t mind the silence; it just lets his little mind wander.</p><p>He looks around at the pretty trees, no longer coated in that ever-present layer of fluffy snow; he watches as birds chirp and soar freely across the sky; he sees colorful buds peeking past tall, green grass and bushes. He wonders if he should pick some flowers for his mom. She seems to like it a lot when she gets gifts.</p><p>Miklan leads him around a bustling marketplace and eventually lets go of Sylvain’s hand. From then, Sylvain trails behind Miklan. It gets a little harder to follow him as they keep walking past stands that Sylvain wants to look at. It doesn’t help that Miklan’s so much taller than him; his long legs make it harder for Sylvain to keep up, especially when he has to squeeze past so many eager marketgoers. Weaving in and out from between people’s legs and baskets is pretty difficult for poor Sylvain.</p><p>At one point, he nearly loses Miklan. He calls out loudly for Miklan, pushing past people. The second he yells for his brother, people stare at him and part away, as if doing their best to help without directly getting involved.  Miklan turns around and gives Sylvain a look—Sylvain isn’t quite sure what to make of it.</p><p>“You’re walking too fast,” Sylvain says, catching up with him.</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“And we missed the sweets stand.”</p><p>“I didn’t see it. Let’s go then.”</p><p>Miklan buys Sylvain some sweet buns from the marketplace, which Sylvain happily thanks him and the kind old lady baking them for. The old lady smiles at Sylvain and coos at him, telling him about how adorable and polite he is. She seems to want to talk more, but Miklan cuts her off, thanking her and leading Sylvain out to a nearby forest, simply stating that he wants to get some fresh air after being cooped up in the carriage for so long. Sylvain munches on the sweet buns and silently follows.</p><p>At some point, Miklan stops them by a little river and sits on one of the large rocks on the river bank. Sylvain joins him, though he keeps a small distance between him. He isn’t quite sure of what Miklan is planning, but being so close to water with no one around but Miklan only makes him feel like he’s planning something bad.</p><p>But Miklan doesn’t do anything. He just stares quietly at the water, expression blank.</p><p>“Um, Miklan?”</p><p>Miklan doesn’t respond.</p><p>Sylvain doesn’t say anything either. Instead, he finishes his treat and leans forward to dip his fingers in the river to wash away the sugar and the sticky fruit jelly left behind.</p><p>“You’re done?”</p><p>Sylvain nods at Miklan.</p><p>“Good. Do you wanna play a game?”</p><p>Sylvain sits back on the rock. “A game?”</p><p>“You know. Hide-and-seek.” Miklan gestures at the wide expanse of forest around them. “I think there’s a lot of hiding spots here. And I think that it’d be fun.”</p><p><em>Why are you being so nice to me</em>? Sylvain can’t help but to wonder. But he still can’t help but to feel something warm and bubbly in his chest. <em>Maybe the well thing made him change his mind. Maybe he just wants to be a nice brother now.</em></p><p>Sylvain nods, a small smile on his face. “Okay. Then can I hide first?”</p><p>“Sure. Hide wherever you want.” Miklan stands up and dusts off his pants. “I’ll stand at this tree right here—” Miklan walks over and points at a nearby tree— “and I’ll count to—hmm, let’s see… I’ll count to two thousand.”</p><p>“Two thousand?” Sylvain gawks.</p><p>“Hey, it’s a big forest. You want a good hiding spot, don’t you?” When Sylvain nods, Miklan grins at him. “So two thousand. And when I’m done, I’ll come find you.”</p><p>“Okay. Okay! No peeking though.”</p><p>“No peeking.” Miklan turns around and presses his hands against his face. Then, he begins to count. “One, two, three…”</p><p>Sylvain takes off into the forest, smiling. He feels so light on his feet, so happy that his brother finally wants to just get along after bullying him for so long. But there’s still that dread in the very back of his head, whispering that Miklan hasn’t changed and that he’s still planning to do something. Regardless, Sylvain tells himself that he’s going to try and enjoy this trip as much as possible.</p><p>The farther that Sylvain gets, the quieter Miklan’s voice gets, but Sylvain can still faintly hear him counting. Sylvain looks around. Most of the forest looks to be just trees and rocks. There aren’t any spots that seem particularly special or fun. So he keeps on looking.</p><p>Eventually, he finds a big rock with a large overhang, leaving a hole-like formation. If he curls himself into a ball, he can fit. He grins and squeezes himself against the rock, trying his best to fit into the parts that are less exposed.</p><p>So now, he waits.</p><p>And waits.</p><p>And waits.</p><p>Sylvain’s mood flits from excited to anxious the longer he waits. From here, he can’t hear Miklan’s voice. He’s pretty far away, but Miklan had said he could hide anywhere that he wanted—so he’s still in-bounds and this is a hiding spot that he’s allowed to be in. Plus, Miklan had picked a pretty big number to count to.</p><p>So Sylvain waits.</p><p>And waits.</p><p>And waits.</p><p>And eventually, Sylvain gives up. He’s bored, he’s hungry, he’s cold, and the sky is getting dark. Sylvain crawls out from under the rock’s overhang and he looks up, where he sees that puffy, charcoal-colored clouds are forming and blocking away the once clear, blue sky. It looks like it’ll rain any second now. Sylvain thinks that he ought to get back to that fancy lodging that his family was given for the night.</p><p>Plus, his mother asked that he be there in time for dinner.</p><p>“Miklan?” Sylvain calls. He waits a beat and calls out a little louder, “Miklan? I give up. I wanna go home now.”</p><p>Sylvain remembers that Miklan was supposedly counting near a tree by that creek. He retraces his steps, but the forest is so large, and all the trees look the same. He finds himself wandering in circles, calling Miklan’s name louder and louder until he feels the first rain drop plop against his head.</p><p>Sylvain’s thoughts buzz as he ambles around, trying to find a spot that looks familiar to where he and Miklan were or where they came from. Where is Miklan? Is he hiding too? Why would he be hiding if he was supposed to be counting? Who’s going to help Sylvain come home now? Geez, it’s already drizzling now, and he’s just so lost and—</p><p>And that’s when it clicks for him.</p><p>Miklan wanted to play hide-and-seek so Sylvain would “get lost”—just like he had told Sylvain to when he had snapped at him in the kitchen. Miklan hadn’t wanted to play nice. He just wanted to find a subtler way to get rid of him.</p><p>That thought makes Sylvain’s knees go weak. Sylvain wasn’t supposed to be found. He was supposed to hide and hide until no one remembered him. No one was going to find him. No one was going to seek him out.</p><p>Sylvain feels frustration and sadness and betrayal and <em>desperation</em> collide in his chest. He isn’t sure what he should do. Should he even bother coming home? Would anyone care that he went missing? Surely, his parents would come look for him, right?</p><p>…Right?</p><p>Sylvain gives a small huff and shakes his head. He needs to stop being negative. If he puts his mind to this, he should be able to find his way out of this forest.</p><p>At least, he would be able to if it wasn’t pouring rain like it is now.</p><p>The rain falls so heavily, so abundantly. The sound of it hitting the trees’ leaves and the ground is loud enough to sound like a constant murmur. The rain is so heavy that the world looks like it’s coated in a silver mist—like it’s an artist’s messy pencil sketch, fit with countless, vertical, gray lines as rain. Sylvain’s clothes are completely and utterly soaked, to the point where he’s shivering and his teeth are shattering.</p><p>With the rain making it hard to see and making his body tremble, his movements become more desperate and clumsier. He ends up tripping on overgrown tree roots and rocks, slipping on wet grass and mud. Low-hanging, whip-like branches of trees and the pointy leaves of bushes strike him as he hurries past them, tearing parts of his clothes and leaving him with scratches along his exposed arms and legs. He even manages to lose one of his shoes.</p><p>He eventually gets tired and gives up trying to navigate the forest. He finds a large tree with a lot of foliage and settles himself in the groove between two, aboveground roots, his back pressed against the trunk of the tree. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his knees. He presses his forehead against his forearms.</p><p>He wants to cry. He wants to let his tears fall freely like the rain falling around him. He wants to cry out for his parents to come and get him. He wants to cry for the Goddess to stop damning him, to stop letting such awful things happen to him.</p><p>But instead, he just shuts his eyes and sighs shakily. Raindrops still slide down against leaves and tap his head and the exposed nape of his nape, as if trying to get his attention. Sylvain doesn’t budge. Instead, he thinks about what his family is doing, safe from the cold rain and the scary wilderness. He wonders if they’ve noticed that he’s gone missing.</p><p>He wonders what his life would have been like if he had been born to another family. But if he thinks about it, he isn’t sure a normal family is supposed to be like. He hasn’t very many friends since he mostly stays home and studies to become his father’s successor. And the friends he does have seem to have their own troubles—he’s heard that House Galatea isn’t doing too great and that Ingrid’s being forced to look for suitors, which sounds pretty stressful. And Dimitri may be a prince, beloved by all, but being a king doesn’t sound very easy.</p><p><em>My issues are nothing compared to theirs</em>, Sylvain thinks. <em>And I don’t think that I could ever say anything to them, especially when they’re under so much pressure themselves.</em> Sylvain sighs and tries to think of something else, hoping that the rain will clear up soon.</p><p>Then, something strikes him—or, rather, the lack of something strikes him.</p><p>The rain from the leaves above had stopped tapping away at him. It’s odd because Sylvain can still hear the rain relentlessly pouring all around him. He lifts his head and finds that there really is no rainwater dropping on him anymore. There’s also a small shadow cast around him. Sylvain looks up and jumps a little at the sight of a long, feathery, white wing there.</p><p>Sylvain follows the wing and finds that strange boy who helped him out of the well, leaning against the thick, tree root to his left. With his hands pressed against the trunk, Felix’s staring at him curiously while using one of his wings to block away the rain.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” the boy—Felix, Sylvain recalls him saying—asks, cocking his head.</p><p>Sylvain blinks at him, eyes wide. Shocked, he can only manage to stutter out, “It’s you.”</p><p>"Huh?" Felix wrinkles his nose and makes a displeased face. “Me? What’d I do?”</p><p>Sylvain shakes his head quickly. “No, no, no! I just—I meant that you’re here again.”</p><p>"Yeah. Of course I’m back.” Felix stare at him with a flat look, almost like he’s saying something obvious. “You got yourself into trouble again, didn’t you?”</p><p>"Yeah, but…” Sylvain trails off, unsure of what to say. Who exactly is he? How did he seem to be here when he needed someone to save him? First, at the well and now, while he’s getting drenched in the middle of some random forest.</p><p>“Geez. You sure get yourself into a lot of trouble, you know.” Felix gives a small shake of his head and gestures at Sylvain with one of his hands, a shooing motion. “Move over.”</p><p>Sylvain scoots aside and Felix slides in beside him, one of his wings used to cover his head. The other wing, the one closer to Sylvain, gently wraps him and pulls him in closer. Immediately, Sylvain feels a lot warmer—but it’s probably because Sylvain chose to wear shorts and a short-sleeved dress shirt today and he’s really cold from getting drenched. Nonetheless, he appreciates it.</p><p>"You’re shivering,” Felix says quietly.</p><p>“It’s really cold.” Sylvain averts his gaze. “Um, thanks for helping me, but you don’t have to stay. You’re getting wet too.”</p><p>“No, I’m not.” Felix shakes his head. “See?” Felix reaches forward and takes one of Sylvain’s icy hands. Felix makes a face. “Oh wow, you’re <em>really </em>cold.” Felix takes Sylvain’s hands in his.</p><p>“You’re really warm,” Sylvain replies. Felix’s hands are both really warm, like he’s radiating this soft sort of heat. But to Sylvain’s surprise, Felix’s hands aren’t wet, even after touching the wet tree root.</p><p>Felix pulls one of Sylvain’s hands up to his head. “Feel it.”</p><p>Sylvain blinks and pats the top of Felix’s head. The hair there is completely dry and silky soft.</p><p>"I'm not wet, and I’m not cold. So you don’t need to worry.” Felix lets go of Sylvain’s hands. “Anyway, I’m not allowed to just let you stay here. That’s bad.”</p><p>"Allowed?” Sylvain echoes, having a strange moment of déjà vu.</p><p>“Yeah. Glenn says humans are very weak and that they can die really easily.” Felix flicks his gaze up to the sky. “And he said that really cold rain can make humans sick.”</p><p>As if on cue, Sylvain sneezes, making Felix frown.</p><p>“You need to go home.”</p><p>“I don’t know where that is.”</p><p>Felix stands up. “I’ll take you there then.”</p><p>“You don’t know where I came from,” Sylvain replies, glumly.</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>"I just do.” Felix gestures at Sylvain. “Come on. Get up.”</p><p>Sylvain stands up and rubs his cold arms with his hands as he trembles. Felix fixes him a look before holding his hand out. Sylvain watches, amazed, as several small balls of golden light swirl out of his palm.</p><p>“You can use magic?” Sylvain asks. Competitive envy sparks subtly in his chest. He’s been wanting to learn magic, but his father refused to let him learn, instead preaching about the values and the benefits of being a front-lines fighter. That’s how he’s gotten so good at using the lance. To see this boy, shorter and scrawnier than him—and probably even younger too!—being able to do something that Sylvain’s wanted to do for so long makes him a little jealous.</p><p>“Yup.” Felix holds his hands out. “Give me your hands, Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain holds out his hands. “How do you know my name?”</p><p>Felix doesn’t reply, instead cupping the small balls of light into Sylvain’s hands. The orbs of light dance in the air above Sylvain’s hands, but they radiate warmth and seem to dry him. Sylvain watches in amazement as the orbs circle him and eventually settle down, hovering over him and warming him.</p><p>"Better?”</p><p>Sylvain nods. “Thank you.”</p><p>Felix gives him a small smile, his wing still raised over Sylvain’s head to block away the rain. “Follow me. I’ll take you to your parents.”</p><p>Sylvain walks side-by-side with Felix, warmed by Felix’s magic and sheltered from the merciless rain by Felix’s wing. He can’t help but to feel intrigued by this boy. He knows so little about him, but it seems that Felix knows a lot about Sylvain, including when he’s in danger.</p><p>"How do you know me?” he asks as Felix navigates them past identical trees, rocks, and bushes. “Do you live near me?” Perhaps it was a boy from the Gautier territory that he simply hasn’t gotten to meet properly.</p><p>Felix presses his lips into a small pout. “Hmm, I guess you can say that!”</p><p>"In the Gautier lands?”</p><p>“Sort of.”</p><p>"Sort of?” When Felix doesn’t speak again, Sylvain tries a different approach to the question. “Do you live with your parents too?”</p><p>"I live with my papa and my brother.” Felix brightens a little. “Oh! Glenn’s my older brother.”</p><p><em>Oh, to admire your older brother and to have an older brother worth admiring</em>, Sylvain thinks bitterly. But he says nothing about it.</p><p>"Well, if you live in Gautier, you should come visit me more often.” Sylvain smiles at Felix. “You keep helping me out, and you know so much about me. We should be friends.”</p><p>Felix’s eyes widen. “You want to be friends?”</p><p>"Yeah! I owe you, don’t I?” Sylvain wants to know more about Felix. He seems pleasant to be around, and he’s helped him. “Oh, I never thanked you for the last time, I don’t think. Um, thank you so much for helping me out of the well.” Sylvain averts his gaze. “It was really scary down there, and I really, um, appreciate what you’ve done.”</p><p>His apology sounds scripted, kind of like the ones that his father gives him when he makes him cry or the ones that his father insists that he learn to use for future political purposes. But it seems to be rather effective in some way or another because Felix just gapes at him, looking shocked.</p><p>"Um, Felix?”</p><p>“You’re welcome!” Felix replies, smiling brightly. “You’re very welcome!”</p><p>Sylvain chuckles a little. “You’re kind of weird.”</p><p>"Hey!” Felix scowls, but he ends up laughing a little too. “Well, I guess I <em>am </em>kind of weird to humans.”</p><p>“You keep saying that. Aren’t you human?”</p><p>Felix doesn’t reply.</p><p>"Felix, are you human?” Sylvain prompts.</p><p>Felix gives him a look, one that Sylvain isn't quite able to recipher, but he changes the subject by pointing ahead of them both. “Look, we made it out!”</p><p>Sylvain has never felt more relief in seeing cobblestone sidewalks and villagers walking about to and from buildings with thatched roofs. Sylvain turns to Felix.</p><p>“You’re a lifesaver,” he tells him, and Felix laughs.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“But will you come and visit me more? We can be friends, right?”</p><p><em>It doesn’t have to be like this, with you always fishing me out of trouble, </em>Sylvain wants to add. <em>We can be regular friends, and I can introduce you to Ingrid and Dimitri, and you can teach me magic, and I’ll teach you how to use the lance—</em></p><p>It doesn’t strike him how desperate he is to meet people who aren’t stuffy nobles or people he <em>has </em>to be nice to until he thinks about being friends with Felix. Felix, the enigmatic boy who seemingly comes out of nowhere. Felix, the boy who tells him little about his personal life but knows just about everything about Sylvain. Felix, who never asks anything of him even though he’s saved Sylvain twice now. Sure, Sylvain likes being friends with Ingrid and Dimitri, but they can’t visit all the time and he’s just so <em>damn</em> lonely sometimes, especially seeing how busy he is with his studies and with dodging fists and ugly looks from Miklan. He just wants someone normal in his life.</p><p>Felix’s smile fades. He averts his gaze, staring down at the ground. “Well, I’m really busy all the time. I don’t think I can come to you.” Felix flinches when he sees the dejected look on Sylvain’s face. “But I’ll still be your friend!” Felix gushes out. “I just can’t come very often.”</p><p>Sylvain frowns. At least Felix has the grace to look guilty about not being able to visit. “That’s okay,” he tells him. “You don’t have to visit all the time. Just—sometimes, right?”</p><p>"Sometimes,” Felix agrees and smiles at him. He turns his gaze to the marketplace before them. “Do you know the way home from here?”</p><p>Sylvain nods. “You aren’t coming with me?”</p><p>“I’ll be with you.” Felix gestures at the marketplace. “Let’s go. You go first.” At Sylvain’s confused look, Felix continues, “I don’t like being around other people. I’ll just hide here, behind you.”</p><p>Sylvain laughs. “Oh, okay! That’s okay. I get it. My parents said I used to be pretty shy too.” Sylvain walks forward.</p><p>He walks through the bustling marketplace, though something seems a little off.</p><p>He realizes what it is when he feels rain droplets tapping him. The magical light orbs from before had also dimmed and faded, dissipating into little particles in the air. Sylvain whips around.</p><p>Felix isn’t there.</p><p>Feeling a little betrayed again, Sylvain forces himself to walk back to the lodge, now alone, wet, and cold again.</p><p>When he gets to the lodge, his parents are there, waiting at the front door of the lodge with a few knights and servants.</p><p>“Sylvain Jose Gautier!” his mother shrieks as he comes up to the doorsteps. “Where in <em>Fodlan</em> were you?! Do you understand how worried we were?” She grabs his arm roughly, and Sylvain winces. He might have bruises from how hard she’s gripping him. “Come in. Ugh, you’re sopping wet and covered in mud! Oh, and your clothes! Don’t you know that your aunt spent good money to have that outfit custom made?”</p><p>The group of knights disband as Margrave Gautier waves them away. Servants fuss, bringing in towels and first aid kits to treat Sylvain. He’s practically swaddled in towels as the maids fuss over him. Butlers offer him his dinner, though it has most definitely gone cold. Sylvain sits at the dining room table alone, his mother and father standing nearby and watching him, displeased.</p><p>“Sylvain,” his father says, in that low tone of his that usually means Sylvain’s in for a beating. His arms are crossed, and his eyebrows are furrowed. “Explain. Where were you?” It’s less of a question and more of a demand.</p><p>He looks up to see the Margrave, but his gaze drifts a little to Miklan in the back. Miklan is nursing his own wounds by himself, wrapping his head in a bandage.</p><p>“I got lost,” Sylvain finds himself saying. “Miklan said—he said not to go too far ahead of him when we were at the market, but I did anyway and I got lost.”</p><p>A flash of shock flickers across Miklan’s expression from across the room. But instead of looking happy or anything, Miklan’s gaze turns serious. Both the Margrave and the Margravine turn to look at him.</p><p>“Is that true, Miklan?” Margravine Gautier asks.</p><p>“It is,” Miklan replies without hesitation. “I looked for him for hours, and I still couldn’t find him.”</p><p>“Sylvain, when we get home, you are grounded.” Margrave Gautier uncrosses his arms and leaves the room. But Sylvain knows that this is all for show—when he gets home, he knows that he’s in some serious trouble. And everyone knows it—Miklan, Sylvain’s mother, and even a few of the servants must know it too.</p><p>He’s lost his appetite, in anticipation of what is going to happen at home.</p><p>His mother sighs and simply leans down in front of Sylvain, a hand caressing his cheek. She sighs. “Clumsy boy. This was one of my favorite outfits of yours, you know.” She shakes her head. “You know your auntie won’t be happy about this.”</p><p>Sylvain bows his head a little. “I’ll write her an apology letter,” he says quietly.</p><p>Her expression relaxes a little, now looking more pitying than cross. “Sweet boy.” She brushes back his drenched hair and presses a kiss to his forehead. She gives him a small smile. “Today sounded rough. Do you want Mama to read you a story tonight?”</p><p>Sylvain nods, even though he just wants to be left alone, just wants to go to his bedroom and cry, just wants to get away from everyone in the Gautier family.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. lies and flowers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After a day of lies, Sylvain celebrates his birthday with an unexpected guest.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p>I keep updating this story because my friend keeps sending me such good fanart ♡✧( っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) a little kith for my friend 🥺🥺</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next time that Sylvain sees Felix is the day of his seventh birthday.</p><p>Sylvain’s entire day leading up to when he sees Felix is rather mundane—a little disappointing, actually. A little lonely. A little empty.</p><p>Starting early in the morning, he has to eat breakfast by himself.</p><p>His father is shut away in his office, sorting through what seemed like endless mountains of paperwork with that stern crease between his eyebrows and his stress-induced white hairs. He is so busy that he won’t even come out to eat breakfast together, won’t even come out to wish Sylvain a happy birthday for a split second. Sylvain knows better than to knock on the door and ask for his father’s attention when he’s in one of these moods. After all, Sylvain doesn’t want to spend his birthday nursing an aching, busted lip or purple, finger-shaped bruises along his neck.</p><p>His mother is just as busy. She’s been assisting her husband with his paperwork before they abruptly got into an argument, loud enough to be heard from the dining room. Shaken by the shrill shouts and the swear words, Sylvain keeps his gaze trained on his plate of breakfast and keeps chewing the near tasteless food in his mouth. Now that he thinks of it, there is nothing special on the menu either—no special birthday treats, no little smiley faces carved into his pancakes, no yummy juice to accompany his food. It’s the same as a normal day. Had even the maids and the cooks forgotten his birthday?</p><p>Just as suddenly as the fight had come on, it’s gone. The silence is deafening, and Sylvain can see the maids and servants all sharing worried or pitying looks, some even aimed towards at him. Sylvain sinks in his chair a little and ducks his head a little more, as if it’ll make him less visible.</p><p>The next thing he knows, his mother is storming out of the office, only to be seen at the front door in less than ten minutes, all dressed up. Sylvain hops up from his seat at the dining table and hurries to the front door, where his mother is tugging on her nice shoes and taking one of her expensive coats from the coatrack.</p><p>“Good morning, sweetie,” his mother greets, pointedly avoiding his gaze. Sylvain doesn’t miss the slight dark spot around her eye. Had the argument between his mother and his father gotten that bad? He feels sick. “I’m just heading out for a bit.”</p><p>“Can I come?” Sylvain looks down at the ground. His shoes are right there. All Sylvain needs to do is throw on a coat and he can spend his birthday with <em>someone</em>—</p><p>“No, I think it’s better if you stay here,” she says. “I’m just going to catch some tea with the ladies. You wouldn’t want to be around for something boring like that, would you?” She smiles at him. “Run along now. Mommy will be home before you know it. Plus, Daddy’s right around the corner if you need him.” A pause. A distasteful expression. “…And Miklan can always play with you, I suppose.”</p><p>She pats his unruly bedhead and steps out of the home, leaving Sylvain standing at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return. One of the head maids comes up beside him, not long after, and ushers him back to the dining table, scolding him for leaving his meal midway through.</p><p>“Haven’t you got manners?” she huffs, pulling Sylvain along. “People back in the poorer parts of Faerghus would <em>kill</em> for this kind of meal, you know! Honestly, what are your parents thinking, letting you just up and wander around without finishing? What, are you waiting for your food to get cold and stale? Or are you trying to bring about flies? Heaven forbid, you’re doing some strange experiment that needs <em>insects</em> crawling around this house.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sylvain says and flashes the maid a smile despite feeling a little odd. A little numb. A little empty. She stares at him flatly and sighs.</p><p>“Perhaps I’m being a little tough on you,” she mutters. “You’ve barely woken up. I mean, look at your hair, Sylvain!” She tousles his hair. “Go on. Finish your food. I know you tend to be a pretty busy boy.”</p><p>Sylvain thanks the maid and waits until she’s out of sight before standing up and returning his plate to the kitchen. He doesn’t think he can stomach another bite, especially with this rotten mood going on.</p><p>At least it’s his day off. That means he doesn’t need to spend the day with his nose between books with needlessly fanciful language or treatises with nothing but dense paragraphs of academic jargon. He doesn’t want to pick up a lance; he doesn’t want to pick up a feather quill pen. He just wants to relax and have fun.</p><p>But what is there to do? He can’t ask his father to take him anywhere, and he isn’t sure if he wants to even try asking Miklan to come out and play after all that Miklan’s done to him. Plus, Sylvain has kind of figured that his birthday is one of the days that Miklan hates the most anyway. Forcing him to come out and play, when he’s even more upset with Sylvain’s existence than usual, probably isn’t the smartest idea. And it’s not like Sylvain has very many friends nearby. Dimitri and Ingrid are too far away to meet in short notice—and they’re probably busy with their own duties and problems anyway.</p><p>Sylvain finds himself wandering out into the yard, one of his favorite books tucked under his arm and an apple in one of his hands. It’s a nice day out. The sun’s shining, but it isn’t sweltering hot; the birds are chirping but not too loudly, not too incessantly; the wind is blowing but not enough to make reading an impossible task. He finds one of the bigger trees in the yard and plops himself down against the trunk, right in the shade.</p><p>He opens his book to the very first page and immediately grows bored of reading. He’s read this very same introduction so many times before. He practically has it memorized. And today, he’s craving something new and fun. He sets the book aside and looks out at the landscape before him.</p><p>From where he’s sitting, atop a grassy hill with a large, well-kept garden, the Gautier estate is to his back, several hundred feet behind the tree he’s at. In front of him, he sees the winding, cobblestone path leading up to the estate; he sees the trees and flowers that line the path; he sees their small artificial lake out in the distance; and farther still, he can see the marketplace, surrounded by all sorts of little buildings, filled to the brim with people bustling about. If he squints, he can see a few smaller figures amongst the adults—kids like him.</p><p>Sylvain casts a small gaze back to the estate. How upset would his father be if Sylvain wandered down to the market? If Sylvain tried to make friends with the lesser nobles or, dare he say, the <em>common folk</em>? Sylvain’s already brainstorming a thousand different excuses of why he went down to the market, unsupervised—he’s shopping on behalf of a maid, he dropped a toy ball and it rolled all the way over there, someone was calling his father and Sylvain showed up on his behalf. Eventually, Sylvain just scraps the idea and sits back against the tree.</p><p><em>It’s useless,</em> Sylvain thinks glumly. <em>He probably wants me to stay here and study. The other kids probably wouldn’t like me much either. Miklan doesn’t. And Ingrid and Dimitri are kind of forced to be my friends because our parents are really close.</em></p><p>That line of thinking does him no good, especially when combined with his already crappy mood. The more he thinks about how lonely he is, about how <em>forgettable</em> he is, the more he’s just convinced that the Goddess just hates him and wants to watch him suffer. Why does everyone seem to feel so indifferent towards Sylvain? What had he done to deserve this?</p><p><em>No! I can’t think like that</em>, Sylvain tells himself, shaking his head hard. <em>That’s what happened to Miklan. I have it so much better than him. I can’t complain. Not when I’ve brought this onto him.</em> His thoughts seem to stall, coming to a silent agreement. Then, a small and childish part of him pipes up, <em>But I’m still lonely. But I’m still sad. But I still want to be loved properly too. But it’s my birthday and nobody cares about me, not even my own family.</em></p><p>His gaze drifts down to the hill, down to where he hears laughter and chatter as a distant murmur in the wind, down to where everyone is leading such mundane and seemingly happy lives. And suddenly, a thought comes into his head.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe if I were gone, I wouldn’t feel this kind of empty agony in my chest.</em>
</p><p>“Sylvain?”</p><p>Something pokes his side. Sylvain blinks and nearly jumps a foot in the air when he sees that someone is sitting beside him. He puts a hand on his chest and gasps out, “Felix? Goddess, you scared me!”</p><p>There, the angel boy sat, looking pristine and perfect with those snow-white robes and wings. Felix pouts. “I called your name a few times. You didn’t reply.”</p><p>“Sorry I was thinking about something.”</p><p>Felix cocks his head. “About what?”</p><p>Sylvain opens his mouth. But nothing comes out. Instead, a little voice in his head butts in, <em>He’s probably got worse things to think about. Don’t worry him.</em></p><p>“It’s nothing.”</p><p>Felix wrinkles his nose. “Hmph. You’re a terrible liar.” Felix grabs a fistful of grass and throws it at Sylvain. “Lying is bad, Sylvain.”</p><p>“Hey!” Sylvain sputters in surprise and brushes the grass off his outfit.</p><p>“Don’t lie to your friends, Sylvain!” Felix’s expression looks a little hurt, his eyebrows creasing and his lower lip wobbling out in a pout. “Because when you lie, people get hurt! And you don’t hurt your friends! That’s something you should never do.” Felix’s voice gets softer. “You don’t hurt others.” He averts his gaze and wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his robes. “And you should never, ever hurt those you love.”</p><p>Sylvain wants to say something bitter, wants to say something a little mean, wants to prove that this mantra that Felix seems to hold so dear isn’t true at all—at least in Sylvain’s case, it isn’t. Sylvain’s far from unharmed by those he loves, and he’s sure that he’s harmed that he’s cared about, even if he hasn’t meant to because his existence is just <em>like </em>that.</p><p>Instead, he just blinks. “Are you crying?” he asks quietly.</p><p>Felix doesn’t verbally respond, though he does give a soft sniffle and peeks at Sylvain with a frustrated expression from behind the sleeve of his robe, his face all red.</p><p>Something in Sylvain’s chest twists when he sees Felix crying, and before he knows it, he’s doing his best to make Felix forgive him.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I won’t lie anymore. Really! Um, so please stop crying.”</p><p>Felix wipes his eyes. “Then what were you thinking about?”</p><p>Sylvain pauses and thinks about that dark thought he had. He pushes it out of his head and instead tells Felix, “Well, I was thinking about how I wanted someone to play with.” He smiles at Felix. “And now you’re here! Do you want to play?”</p><p><em>I’m sorry, Felix,</em> Sylvain thinks. <em>I’ve told a half-lie. That’s okay though, right? It’s not a full lie.</em></p><p>“Play? Like games?”</p><p>Sylvain nods. “It’ll be fun! We can play a lot of games.” When Felix gives him an expectant look, Sylvain tucks his arms behind his head and looks up to the sky. “Like, uh…” He stands upright and snaps his fingers, expression brightening. “Like chess! I have a chess set!”</p><p>Felix frowns. “That sounds hard. I’ve seen Father and Glenn playing chess. It looks confusing.”</p><p>“It’s not. Stay here! I’ll bring it out, and I’ll teach you!” Sylvain starts to sprint towards his house, but he abruptly stops, turning to look back at Felix. “You’ll be here, right?” he asks, voice going quiet.</p><p>Felix gives him an odd look, but he nods.</p><p>Sylvain takes a small breath and shuts his eyes briefly. He forces himself to continue to the house, forces himself to trust that Felix won’t magically disappear again this time. While in his room, he grabs his chess set and looks around for anything else he could bring out to play. He finds a few wooden swords, and though his swordsmanship isn’t great, he’s sure that playing with them could be fun. He tucks them under his arm and makes his way down.</p><p>“Young Master Sylvain?” Sylvain, almost at the door, is stopped by a butler. “Where exactly are you going, holding all of that?”</p><p>“I’m playing with a friend.”</p><p>The butler frowns. “Who is this friend?”</p><p>“Um, well, his name’s Felix.” Sylvain shuffles the things in his arms so that he has one free arm. He swats blindly at the doorknob until he manages to grasp it. “He’s sitting out in the yard.”</p><p>“Then you wouldn’t mind me coming to see this ‘Felix?’”</p><p>Sylvain frowns. “He says he doesn’t like being around other people.”</p><p>“I won’t stay for long.”</p><p>Sylvain shrugs. “Okay then.”</p><p>Sylvain leads the butler out to the tree and nearly drops everything that he’s holding when he finds that Felix isn’t there, leaning against the tree. Sylvain just kind of stares at the tree trunk.</p><p><em>Abandoned by even him on my birthday, huh?</em> he thinks. He ignores the stinging in his chest and his eyes and turns to the butler.</p><p>“Um, he was right here.”</p><p>The butler stares at the empty spot beside the tree and then back at Sylvain and the teary-eyed expression starting to bloom on his face. “Ah, I see,” he says. Sylvain cocks his head. Then the butler crouches beside the empty space at the tree. “Hello, Young Master Felix,” the butler says aloud. “I hear you are friends with our Young Master Sylvain.” He pauses and then nods emphatically, as if listening to something. “Ah, yes. I understand. Nice to meet you too.”</p><p>Sylvain frowns. <em>He’s not fake! I promise! I'm too old for an imaginary friend now, you know!</em></p><p>The butler smiles at Sylvain. “Well, I suppose I shall leave you to it.”</p><p>As he walks back to the house, Sylvain sets the chess board on the grass and plops down beside it. He’s just so tired and lonely. Is he that much of a pain to be around? Is it too much to ask that someone love him?</p><p>Just as Sylvain presses his forehead against the grass and cups his arms around his head, like he’s trying to block out some terrible noise, he hears something rustling. Sylvain sits up and balks at Felix, siting up in the tree branches.</p><p>“I told you. I don’t like to meet new people.” Felix hops off from the branch and glides gently down to the ground.</p><p>Sylvain gulps. “You were here?”</p><p>“Of course. I told you I’d be here, right?” Felix smiles a little. Then, he looks over at the things Sylvain’s brought and practically beelines to the wooden swords. “Oh! This is fun! Can we play with these?” He picks one up and swings it around before taking a defensive stance. “Hey, bet I can beat you!”</p><p>Sylvain casts one, short-lived dejected look towards the chess board and grins, picks up the other sword. “Bring it on!”</p><p>-</p><p>Well, as it turns out, Felix was right with his prediction. His skill with the sword is quite impressive. He has Sylvain winded and stumbling as he lands his agile but gentle strikes against Sylvain. Sylvain hardly manages to land any hits on Felix, but each of his own victories only seem to fuel Felix on into doing better. And Sylvain doesn’t want to lose so he works himself to the bone trying to beat Felix. Their competitiveness with their sparring drives the other to work harder until Sylvain finally concedes a loss, covered in sweat and grass stains.</p><p>“See? What’d I say? I’m really good at this, aren’t I?”</p><p>Sylvain, sitting on the ground with his sword having been knocked out of his hand a while back, only manages a small laugh. “Okay, yeah. You’re really good. But I bet if we did this with lances, I’d win.”</p><p>Felix hums noncommittally and holds a hand out to help Sylvain stand up. “I train a lot with my brother. He’s really good.” Sylvain sees that twinkle of admiration in Felix’s eyes again as he talks about his brother, one that Sylvain wishes that he could have for his own brother—one that he wishes he could see in Miklan’s eyes when talking about Sylvain. “Glenn’s <em>really</em> good! He taught me everything I know! And one day, I’m going to beat him!”</p><p>“I can’t imagine anyone better than you.” Sylvain smiles at him. “But good luck in beating him.”</p><p>“Thanks, but I won’t need it! I’ll just need my skill!” Felix’s bright mood is cut short when he sees something. He grabs Sylvain’s arm gently and pulls it up closer to his own face. He frowns. “Hey, when did you get scraped?”</p><p>Sylvain looks down at the red burn, covered in dirt and small droplets of blood. He had felt his arm burning a while ago, but he had been so focused on trying to beat Felix that he forgot about it. Now that he remembers it’s there, he’s hyper-aware of the stinging feeling.</p><p>“Don’t know. Must have been while we were sparring.”</p><p>Felix’s shoulders rise to his ears, like he’s trying to shrink away. “Oh,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think I hurt you.”</p><p>“It doesn’t hurt.”</p><p>Felix shoots him a flat look. “Are you lying again?”</p><p>"No, really. I forgot that it was even there until you pointed it out.”</p><p>Felix sighs a little. “Okay, well, I caused it so let me take care of it.” Sylvain’s protests die on his tongue as a wave of cold, healing magic washes over his arm. He sees the soft green light radiating off of Felix’s hands while they hover over the scrape. As the magic dims away, Felix lets go of Sylvain’s arm. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”</p><p>Sylvain shakes his head. “I feel fine. Do you want to play something else?”</p><p>Felix yawns. “I’m kind of tired. Can we take a break?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Both of the boys sit by the tree where they had initially met earlier that morning. It’s already noon. Sylvain’s surprised how fast that time flies when he’s playing with someone. He can’t help but to feel a lot better than he was feeling after breakfast.</p><p>“Oh!” Felix’s voice draws Sylvain out of his thoughts. “You have really nice flowers.” Sylvain looks over and finds Felix crawling over picking some of the small, white flowers adorning the bushes along the Gautiers’ lawn. “I think Glenn said something about these before.”</p><p>“Those are called Baby’s Breath flowers. The gardener here really likes it, but I don’t know anything about them.” Sylvain can’t help but to snicker at the name like he always does when he hears it. “What’d your brother say about them?”</p><p>“He says that they’re very important to humans and that they’re used in a lot of special ceremonies.”</p><p>“Ceremonies? Like a baby’s first birthday?” Sylvain cocks his head. “What does a baby’s breath have to do with flowers?”</p><p>“I don’t remember. Glenn said something, but I can’t remember it.” Felix shakes his head and holds out a fistful of flowers. “They’re still kind of pretty, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Do you really like them that much?” Sylvain asks, crouching beside Felix and leaning over the bush. He picks some of the flowers himself. “Oh, hey, I can do something with these. Do you want to see?”</p><p>Felix nods. “Sure! Show me!”</p><p>“It might take a while.” Sylvain grabs the flower’s stems and starts to slowly weave them together. Cross the stems, pull one up and over, repeat with another flower. Over and over and over. It takes him a bit, but by the end of it, he’s weaved a small crown out of the flowers. He stands and presents it to Felix, who has been picking more flowers himself. “Ta-dah!”</p><p>Felix turns and looks at the flower crown, eyes widening. “Wow,” he breathes. Sylvain drops the flower crown on top of Felix’s head. “What, for me?”</p><p>“Sure! I can always make more anyway so you should go ahead and keep that one.”</p><p>Felix reaches up and touches the crown gently, as if it’d disappear once he touched it with his hand. When it clearly stays on his head, he brightens considerably.</p><p>“Teach me!” he tells Sylvain, grabbing Sylvain’s hand and pulling him so that they’re sitting side-by-side. “Teach me how to make one! Please? I’ll make one for you and Glenn and maybe even Father!”</p><p>Sylvain laughs, feeling something odd and bubbly in his chest. “Okay! Then make sure you’re watching then, okay?”</p><p>"Of course!”</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain gets called into dinner not long after Felix finishes weaving his last flower crown, tossing aside all the other failures and broken flower stems. Sylvain, wearing Felix’s first flower crown—an uneven mess of bulky, snapped stems and wrinkled, missing petals—applauds him and laughs happily.</p><p>“See, look at that! You’re a natural!”</p><p>"Yours are still prettier.”</p><p>“Because I’ve had practice.” Sylvain thinks about the days of his earlier youth, when his mother would lovingly sit out on the lawn with him in her lap and guide his clumsily fingers—<em>just like tying your shoes now, Sylvain</em>, she said,<em> cross them then pull up and over in a little loop</em>. Those days stopped, though Sylvain still isn’t quite sure what caused that. “A lot of practice,” he adds as an afterthought. “You’re even better than when I first started. I’m a little jealous, you know.”</p><p>Felix smiles bashfully. “Thanks, Sylvain! I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” Felix brightens, holding up the flower crowns he’s weaved for his brother and his father like he’s trying to crown the sun. “Wow, this was all really fun.”</p><p>"See? That’s why you should come over more often! We can play more often!” Sylvain smiles at  Felix, but his smile starts to falter when Felix averts his gaze.</p><p>"I don’t think I can. I told you. I’m really busy. But I want to keep coming over.”</p><p>Sylvain looks back at his house. “I guess I’m kind of busy too.” <em>But I can make time for you</em>, Sylvain wants to say.</p><p>"How about this?” Felix hooks an arm through the flower crowns. “I’ll try to come over if I have extra time.”</p><p>Sylvain brightens. If he were a dog, his ears were be sitting upright and his tag would be foolishly wagging back and forth. “Really?”</p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>“Sylvain!” his mother calls from the front door.</p><p>"Ah, I should get going.” Felix nods at Sylvain. “Goodbye.”</p><p>Sylvain can’t help but to feel like a part of his heart drifted away with Felix as the angel scurried down the hill and down into the forest beside the road leading up to his house. With a heavy heart, Sylvain scoops up all his belongings and makes his way to his house.</p><p>"Sylvain, look at you!” his mother gasps, clearly aghast. “You’re covered in mud and grass and—oh, is that from Miss Ralton’s good flower bush?” She grabs the flower crown off his head and tosses it outside, where it unceremoniously lands on the grass. “Get inside and go wash up. There’s no excuse for such a refined boy to look so dirty, especially at <em>our</em> dinner table.”</p><p>And like Sylvain’s been wrenched away from a pleasant dream, he realizes what kind of hell he’s been returned to, now without the comfort of a certain winged boy at his side.</p><p>-</p><p>Even at dinner, no one seems to remember his birthday. Miklan ignores him as always, and his mother just argues with his father at the table over dinner. It’s the kind of argument that practically has the two of them throwing food at each other from across the table. Sylvain tries to butt in and ask them if there’s a cake or anything for him, just to break the tension and get some sort of selfish relief, only for both of them to bark at him.</p><p>“Shut up,” his father snarls. “Can’t you see the adults are talking about something important?”</p><p>“Ask for dessert after you’ve finished your meal,” his mother huffs at him. “Cake! Of all things? Why would you even ask for such a dessert when all the maids work so hard to make you those little tarts?”</p><p>Sylvain wilts. “Huh? Well… Well, b-because it’s…”</p><p>His father groans loudly. “Spit it out, boy. I didn’t raise you to speak like an impotent ape. No Crest-bearing man should ever talk like that.”</p><p>Sylvain gulps. “It’s my birthday.”</p><p>The table goes dead-silent. His mother and father stop quarreling, and Miklan stops picking at his plate with his fork. Even the servants that were scampering about seem to have gone quiet.</p><p>“Is that so?” his mother muses. Sylvain nods.</p><p>"Hm. Thought I was missing something today.” His father turns to the nearest servant. “Go grab my calendar and a pen.”</p><p>"Had you forgotten our son’s birthday?”</p><p>"Oh, hush. You forgot too, woman.”</p><p>"Woman? You—! Don’t take that tone with me.”</p><p>His father slams the table with his hand, and Sylvain flinches at the sound. When he sees his father pointing at his mother, a small part of him relaxes a little, though he starts to worry about his mother. “Who do you think you’re talking to, you little ingrate? I am the head of the house and the Gautier family estate! You wouldn’t even be living in a place <em>half </em>as good as this home if it weren’t for me! Show a little gratitude!”</p><p>Sylvain quickly excuses himself from dinner, putting his dishes in the dishwasher and hurrying up to his room. He can hear his parents arguing about something still, but from the safety of his room, it’s a lot less audible. And if Sylvain turns one of the music boxes he got as a gift from Dimitri as an end-of-the-year kind of gift, letting the little chimes tinkle and jingle, he just <em>might</em> be able to forget about everything.</p><p>At some point later in the night, right after he’s washed up and prepared to go to bed, his parents stop by and wish him a happy birthday. His father tells him that he hopes for this year of Sylvain’s life to be one of improvement and fulfillment; his mother tells him that she hopes for this year to be one where Sylvain makes them proud.</p><p>“Prouder than we already are, of course,” she adds on quickly after she’s spoken her piece, but Sylvain already got the true message loud and clear.</p><p>Sylvain plays along and thanks them, giving them a smile and accepting the gift that they clearly had someone run down to the market and buy. He knows this because if his mother or his father had gone to buy something on his behalf, they might have known that he already had this particular novel. Nevertheless, he thanks them and hugs them, and he bids them a goodnight.</p><p>After they leave, he gets another guest. It’s one of the younger maids, bearing a small cake. She hands it to him and wishes him a happy birthday before scurrying off. Sylvain shuts the door and looks at the cake.</p><p>It’s a cake that Sylvain likes, decorated hastily but neatly nonetheless, and it even has a little candle stuck in it. Sylvain isn’t particularly hungry, but he figures he might as well eat the cake so it doesn’t go to waste. Sylvain takes out a box of matches from his desk and sparks one of the matches against the side. Then, he lights the candle, though he wishes sorely that he could have simply done it with magic.</p><p>The room is dark, even with the light of the moon peeking through his window’s blinds and even with the light of the candle illuminating the cake and Sylvain’s face. The room is quiet, even with the owl hoots and the cricket chirps outside, even with the sound of the maids and butlers cleaning up and preparing to head out for the night downstairs. The room is lonely.</p><p>But a birthday celebration isn’t complete without the song.</p><p>Sylvain takes in a small breath and looks at the candle. Even past the light of the candle, he can see how empty his room. He tries to envision the happy faces of his friends and family members filling the emptiness, but his brain refuses to conjure up such images, as if forcing him to look at the reality of the situation.</p><p><em>Happy birthday to me</em>, he sings quietly, slowly. For such a happy song, it sounds so depressing when it’s sung by one just person. <em>Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Sylvain.</em> <em>Happy birthday to me</em>. Sylvain’s voice catches in his throat when he’s forced to sing his own name. And his voice is trembling and off-pitch by the end of the song.</p><p>Sylvain barely manages to blow out the candle, the hot tears streaking his cheeks and the constricting feeling in his chest making it hard to breathe or even want to blow out the candle. He sets the cake aside on his desk, disposes of the used match and the candle, and he crawls into bed, furiously wiping away his tears.</p><p>Somehow, even though he just had a fire a few inches away from his face, he’s cold. But no matter how tightly he pulls his blankets around himself, the cold persists. It seems that it’s coming from within him.</p><p>"You didn’t tell me it was your birthday.”</p><p>Sylvain jolts and throws the covers off of himself at the sound of the voice.</p><p>Sitting on Sylvain’s windowsill is none other than Felix, bearing a small box. He looks quite upset, like he himself is bordering on tears.</p><p>“Felix? How’d you get in here?” Sylvain rasps out, desperately wiping the tears away from his eyes.</p><p>“Um, well, you left your window open.” Sylvain frowns at that very non-convincing response but finds that he doesn’t have the energy in him to care about the truth—all he cares about is that Felix is here now. “Anyway, um, I heard it was your birthday.”</p><p>“From who?”</p><p>“One of the maids.”</p><p><em>Well, one of them did go down to the market and buy me that book</em>, Sylvain thinks bitterly.<em> If Felix was around there, he could have overheard her.</em></p><p>“I wanted to celebrate with you. I hope I’m not too late.”</p><p>Sylvain shakes his head. “You don’t have to. It’s late, and you should probably be in bed.” He frowns. “And your brother and your father are probably worried about you. Do they even know you’re here?”</p><p>“It’s not about them, Sylvain.” Felix fervently shakes his head. He hops off the windowsill and sets the box on the desk, instead picking up the cake. “Let’s eat!” He holds it up towards Sylvain.</p><p>“You want to…?”</p><p>“Yeah!” Felix reaches into his pocket with one hand and produces a small dagger. “This is supposed to be used for fighting, but if I clean it, Father won’t notice.” He cuts himself and Sylvain some small slices. Sylvain offers him the plate that the cake come on, but Felix simply shakes his head and points a finger at the cake. Magic comes out of his finger and envelops the cake, making it levitate in the air before Felix. Sylvain smiles a little.</p><p>“Happy birthday, Sylvain! I hope that your next birthday will be better than this one.” He averts his gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier. I didn’t know and…” He shuts his eyes. “No. I… That’s a lie. I lied. I’m sorry. I knew it was your birthday, but I was having so much fun that I forgot! I’m sorry, Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain stares at him blankly. “You knew?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>Felix shrugs. “It’s just something I know. Friends know when their birthdays are, right?”</p><p>Sylvain furrows his brow, but again, he’s too tired to really say much on the topic. In all honesty, he’s not even sure that this isn’t a dream. It all feels like one. Instead, he forks some cake into his mouth and asks, “Well, when’s your birthday then?”</p><p>“It’s the 20<sup>th</sup> of the Pegasus Moon.”</p><p>“Ah. I missed it.”</p><p>“It’s okay! There’s always next year!” Felix casts a look out the window. “Mm, I think I might have to go soon.”</p><p>“Already?” Sylvain tries not to look disappointed.</p><p>“I wasn’t s’posed to stay very long. But here! Open your present.” Felix picks up the box from the desk and holds it out towards Sylvain.</p><p>Sylvain sets aside his cake and gingerly picks up the small box. It’s light, but if he shakes it, it rattles so there’s definitely something in there.</p><p>“Come on! I want to see you open it before I leave.”</p><p>Sylvain peels away the hasty wrappings and opens the box. It seems that the box is little too big for its contents because Sylvain reaches his hand in and feels around, but he feel just one object, sitting along at the bottom of the box by itself. He fishes out a wooden charm of a cat. At the very top, the charm is held up a thin, metal chain. He stares at it and then stares up at Felix.</p><p>“Do you like it? I made it with Glenn. He says it’s a worry charm.”</p><p>“A worry charm? I’ve never heard of that before.”</p><p>“Hmm. Maybe it’s just a thing in my family. Well, whenever you’re worried, you hold the charm to your chest and think of whoever gave it to you. It’s supposed to make you feel less scared and remind you that you have people who care about you.”</p><p>Sylvain feels his breath catch in his throat. “You care about me?”</p><p>“Yeah! Of course! You said that we’re friends, right? Friends care about one another.” Felix walks forward and gives Sylvain a small hug. “So don’t be worried and don’t be sad. I’m here for you, friend.”</p><p>Sylvain feels tears stinging his eyes again, the lump forming in his throat. He grasps the charm tightly in his hand and hugs Felix back, burying his face in the nape of Felix’s neck. “Yeah. We’re friends, Felix. Thank you for the gift—and thank you for coming over.”</p><p>Felix beams at him and pats his back reassuringly. He then bids Sylvain goodbye and goodnight, promising that they’ll meet again. Sylvain hates this goodbye because it sounds so final, but he makes sure to show Felix his gratitude for the gift and the impromptu cake-eating session. Sylvain goes to bed, feeling a strange feeling of warm and bubbly euphoria, rather than the cold and endless feeling of loneliness. And he goes to bed, holding onto the cat charm that his friend gave him, clasping it tightly with both hands and holding it to his chest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey! google the meaning of baby's breath flowers if you want a little bonus to this story :^)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain's life is a series of sorrow so he's learned to cope by himself, for himself—but what's he to do when those he cares about are grieving?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Through the years, Sylvain sees Felix more and more, though Felix’s appearances are never frequent, long, or consistent. They’re sporadic and typically around times when Sylvain is alone and hurting, whether it’s emotionally or physically. Felix always seems to be the perfect painkiller for Sylvain, helping him forget about why he was upset despite that the problem never truly fades away. Even so, they get closer, always happy to just spend some time talking together or sparring from time to time.</p><p>Felix may not be as present as his family or his real-life friends, but Felix’s presence just feels like it has so much more of an impact. Sylvain finds himself thinking about Felix a lot. How can someone so familiar be so enigmatic and mysterious?</p><p>Even as they talk, Sylvain finds that he really doesn’t know as much about Felix as he thinks he ought to. Felix always seems quite secretive, especially about his odd wings and where he disappears off to before . All Sylvain knows is that Felix has an older brother who he admires greatly and a stern but loving father—and that Felix really enjoys sparring and spending time with Glenn. He later amends that statement to gleefully add, “And spending time with you, Sylvain!” which makes Sylvain embarrassingly happy to hear.</p><p>But Felix never truly says much about himself; and oddly enough, he knows a lot about Sylvain, even things that Sylvain swore that he’s never told him—including where he is, which is odd because he is great at hiding from people like his father and Miklan but not from Felix. Sylvain always means to push on this topic, always intends to learn why Felix knows so much about him, but he never remembers to, always too busy with chatting.</p><p>The next time that Sylvain sees Felix for longer than five minutes is one night, when Sylvain is almost thirteen.</p><p>It had been a terrible few days. Tragedy had struck the Faerghus royal family during a diplomatic trip to Duscur, resulting in the death of King Lambert and Queen Consort Patricia and the hospitalization of Prince Dimitri. Luckily, Prince Dimitri is said to make a speedy recovery, but the state of his mental health is questionable. When he woke up the very next day after the tragedy, he had profusely been apologizing, begging, crying; he had babbled to the nurses about an angel that had died in his stead and how he should have taken his place, but a popular theory amongst citizens is that the Goddess had been watching over him and protected him from the “vile” and “heartless” Duscur people.</p><p>Somehow, Sylvain had his doubts about that—has his doubts that the Duscur are to blame when he’s been studying Faerghan politics and relations for his entire life, that the Goddess tried to protect Dimitri when he’s seen firsthand that angels do indeed exist.</p><p>Nevertheless, Sylvain pens a letter to Dimitri to check up on him, though he isn’t particularly expecting a response any time soon.</p><p>The death of the king has the rest of the nobles scrambling to redistribute duties to make up for the late monarch. The only thing that seems to be coming out of that is frustrated and stressed nobles, now working to combat the chaos and disorder erupting from the event and to appease the furious commoners.</p><p>When Sylvain hears the nobles’ plan to punish the Duscur, he practically goes apoplectic with rage.</p><p>“You can’t be serious!” Sylvain shouts from across the table of his father’s office, slamming his hands down and glaring at the despicable papers scattered along the surface of the desk. He glares even harder when he sees his father’s seal of approval and signature on a few of the documents outlining the people’s digust with Duscur. “This doesn’t make any sense! You can’t just—just blame the Duscur for the massacre, Father!”</p><p>His father shoots him a scathing look, but Sylvain doesn’t stand down.</p><p>“You and I have studied Faerghus’s politics for so long! We know that the Duscur people and Faerghus have had good relations for years! There is no reason for them to—”</p><p>“Our house is more focused on relations between Sreng and Faerghus,” his father cuts in with a dismissive wave. “Leave this kind of speculation to the experts.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“What do you know about Duscur anyway?” His father sets his feather quill pen down and crosses his arms. “Why defend them when you hardly know them? For all you know, they could have been filthy traitors who have been conspiring against the Holy Kingdom, pretending to be on our side."</p><p>Sylvain grits his teeth. “It just doesn’t make sense!” Why would the Duscur people ever want to pick a fight with the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus? A small independent group of people could never compare to the strength of a unified kingdom, full of formally trained soldiers. Trying to assassinate the royal family would just be a death sentence. Not to mention that they just don't have a reason.</p><p>“Sylvain,” the margrave says, but Sylvain can see the seething anger teeming underneath this calm façade. “The evidence clearly points to the Duscur people planning an assassination of the royal family, and that's that. You just don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Even if he wanted to, he can’t make himself shut up. “And you don’t either! You won't look at the facts!”</p><p>Before Sylvain knows it, his father has grabbed Sylvain’s shirt collar from across the table and has a fist wound up. Sylvain shuts his eyes and wriggles a little, but he knows it’s hopeless. The blow against his face is burning and painful, and he swears he can feel every beat of his heart in the throbbing on his bruised cheek and eye.</p><p>“Don’t you <em>dare</em> raise your voice like that at me ever again, you incompetent cretin,” snarls Margrave Gautier, pulling Sylvain up to meet his eyes before tossing him on the ground. Sylvain forces himself to sit up, but his father swiftly kicks him in the side, earning a pained grunt from him. Sylvain collapses back to the ground, cradling his side, but his father is relentless. “You don’t know <em>anything</em> about politics—and to think that you’d have the audacity to come into my office and preach at me about those filthy, twisted Duscur people! You must be out of your mind!”</p><p>Sylvain lets out a cry as his father kicks him again in the ribs.</p><p>“Are you a traitor too? My own flesh and blood?” The margrave laughs, his laughter tinted with cruelty and disbelief, and roughly grabs a handful of Sylvain’s hair, yanking him upwards to meet his eyes. “Faerghus has no regard for traitors—not after this tragedy.” He strikes Sylvain again and again with his fist before leaving Sylvain on the ground, bruised and broken as he lets out soft wheezes.</p><p>When his father finally leaves him alone, after spitting some more hurtful insults and with one final kick to the side, Sylvain lies on his side and tries to catch his breath, his eyes shut tightly. His entire body aches, and every breath feels like hell on his body. He knows that he looks like shit—that he’s covered in bruises and even a few scrapes from his father’s ring and shoe. Sylvain also knows that he should leave quickly so that his father doesn’t start to get angry at him for being a reminder of the disappointment that he is while he lies around; chances are that if his father looks over at him and sees him, he might just get angry again and come back to hurt him.</p><p>Sylvain forces himself to his legs and stumbles quietly out of the room, ignoring the way that his father glares at him on his way out.</p><p>Sylvain dodges the maids and other servants in the halls as he tries to get to his room. He doesn’t want them to worry about him, and he doesn’t want them to bother helping him. Everyone in House Gautier practically knows of how the margrave is, and if they help Sylvain, there’s a good chance that they might get involved with the margrave too. He doesn’t want to wish that upon anybody.</p><p>He ignores the pitying looks and the few servants who curiously call out to him—he’s sure that walking with a limp while holding an arm over his bruised ribs doesn’t make him look any less suspicious—and climbs up the stairs, just wanting to crawl into bed already.</p><p>Only he can’t because Miklan is there, leaning against the wall near his door with his arms crossed. When he comes closer to the door, Miklan turns his gaze to him. There’s not a trace of sympathy in his gaze. Instead, there is something smug, almost like Sylvain got what he deserved.</p><p>“Miklan,” Sylvain murmurs, “please move.”</p><p>“What happened, little brother?” sneers Miklan. “Looks like being the favorite doesn’t do you much good, huh?”</p><p>“Miklan.” Miklan shouldn’t be taunting him like this. He knows that Sylvain gets this sort of treatment from their father from time to time. He knows. Sylvain can’t help the frustration building up in his chest. Why can’t he just show a little bit of sympathy? A little bit of empathy? Why can’t they just stick together and comfort each other like other siblings would? The worst part of it all is that Sylvain knows exactly why and feels like he should just accept his punishment for being born.</p><p>Sylvain doesn’t want to have this conversation with Miklan. He limps up to Miklan, who watches him with a flat gaze, unmoved.</p><p>“Please move.”</p><p>Miklan shoves him. “Get away from me.”</p><p>Sylvain puts a little more force behind his words and shoves past Miklan to try and get to his room. “Get away from my room.”</p><p>Miklan’s smug look immediately turns sour. As Sylvain grabs the doorknob to his door, Miklan tightly grabs his wrist, hard enough to bruise, and yanks him back. Sylvain shoves Miklan again, but his grip is unfaltering, tightening instead.</p><p>“You little brat,” Miklan hisses, twisting Sylvain’s arm from behind and pinning him to the wall. Sylvain, weak from his encounter with his father just moments ago, only winces silently in pain and grimaces. “You think you can push me around too, huh? You think you’re so important and powerful?”</p><p>“Just leave me alone.”</p><p>Miklan curses at him, terrible words that Sylvain's heard before, but he does eventually let go. Sylvain feels like his arm is going to get twisted right off his body beforehand, but he does get released. Sylvain holds his arm close to his body before slinking away into his room without a second look back. He locks the door and heads to a drawer where he keeps a first aid kit.</p><p><em>I wish my parents would let me learn healing magic,</em> Sylvain thinks with a sigh as he opens the first aid kit. <em>It’s hard to treat bruises with nothing but bandages and a few different ointments.</em> Sylvain pulls out a roll of bandages and sits himself in front of his floor-length mirror. He looks worse than he initially thought. His face is covered in bruises and a few spots of blood where he got cut by his father’s ring. There’s, of course, the blood falling from his nose, but it dried up a while ago.</p><p>Sylvain patches up what he can and shuts the first aid kit. He uses up the last of his bandages in the His eyes drift up to his miserable reflection in the mirror. His eyes graze over his disheveled red hair, the hair he shares with his brother and his father; he looks at his golden brown eyes, hardly visible on his right side from the swelling and the bruising; he looks at the finger-shaped bruises on his arms; he lifts his shirt and winces at the sight of purple splotches on his skin. He gently presses a finger against his ribs and curses under his breath, scrunching up his face in agony. It hurts when he touches the bruises, but he knows that they’re not broken. He’s had worse. He knows worse.</p><p>He tidies up the first aid kit and hides it back in his drawer. He slowly walks to his bed but falters around his desk, where his treasured cat charm neatly placed atop his studies. He picks up the charm and carries it with him to his bed, where he lies down and shuts his eyes tightly.</p><p>He wishes that he were happy. He wishes that he weren’t so selfish. He wishes that the world could stop burning and fighting itself, all revolving around this wretched Crest system and general misinformation. And he just wishes that Felix were here, like he typically would be when Sylvain is feeling so low.</p><p>All he can do is hold onto the charm from Felix and try to remind himself that there’s at least <em>one</em> person out there who cares for him.</p><p>-</p><p>When Sylvain wakes up from his impromptu nap, he feels even worse than he did before his nap. His body still aches everywhere, but sleeping had helped him to forget the pain; now that he’s awake, he is acutely aware of every bruise blooming across his skin like an ugly tattoo. Nonetheless, he pulls himself out of bed.</p><p>The house is silent with the lights all turned off. Outside his window, the moon shines brightly amongst the little stars that dance around it, and crickets chirp periodically. Just how long had Sylvain been asleep?</p><p>Sylvain pads barefoot closer towards the window and stares outside. He isn’t looking at anything in particular; he just looks out at the serenity of the world at night. He’s sure that there’s no place in this world that’s completely void of violence and chaos, and he’s sure that there’s no way that the strife would pause just because it’s night—if anything, it’s more likely to encourage the degenerates of the world to do some terrible things, cloaked in darkness—but he just likes to believe that there’s something soft and vulnerable about the night, something that keeps people sane. Something that keeps people true to themselves.</p><p>Perhaps that’s why Sylvain comes upon the revelation that he would rather be anyplace than his home. He doesn’t want to put up with his father’s explosive temper and painful expectations; he doesn’t want to have to put up with Miklan’s jealousy and hatred; he doesn’t want to put up with his mother’s apathy and distance. He doesn’t want to use his Crest to prove his nobility or his strength or anything. He just wants to be away.</p><p>Before Sylvain knows it, he’s digging through his closet. He tosses aside any and everything until he finds his favorite satchel, a old and beat-up leather satchel that’s covered in a few scratches and stains from how old it is. It still fits him and seems to have a lot of room for his belongings. Perfect.</p><p>Sylvain tells himself, <em>This is for the best. If I don’t live here anymore, I can be happy. I can be safe. Miklan won’t have to worry about me taking his spot as the Gautier heir, and Mother and Father won’t have to spend time or resources on making me better.</em> He packs the satchel full with a few of his clothes, his wallet, the first aid kit, and his favorite book, just to pass the time. He changes into clothes more fit for travel and pulls the satchel on over his shoulder. But something’s missing.</p><p>He stands at his doorway and stares at his room, trying to place his finger on what exactly is missing.</p><p>Then it hits him.</p><p>He hurries to his bed and thoroughly shakes his covers until Felix’s charm slips out of the sheets and clatters to the ground. Sylvain picks it up and tucks it in his pocket before quietly sneaking downstairs.</p><p>Sylvain hesitates a little at the door, after he’s pulled on his shoes and pocketed a few provisions from the kitchen. He feels bad about just leaving, but he just <em>can’t</em> live like this anymore. An attempt at being free is better than living in such a terrible place.</p><p>Sylvain slips out of the house and debates taking a horse from the Gautier estate’s stables but decides against it, thinking that “stealing” a horse would probably give his parents an incentive to locate him. He does, however, take his lance with him.</p><p>The walk away from the Gautier Estate is a long one. Strangely enough, even though he’s walked this path hundreds and hundreds of times since he was little, this particular walk feels the longest. He feels wary, as if someone’s watching him, so he tries to walk a little faster, despite how weak his body feels. Luckily, the lance doubles as a walking stick that helps him keep walking. He makes it out of his house, down the large hill, and into the forest leading to the nearby marketplace.</p><p>Sylvain won’t lie. He’s terrified out of his mind. It’s so dark in this forest that Sylvain can hardly see a thing and the eerie silence, save for the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl, is picking away at his resolve. He’s worried that someone will catch him, send him back. And the longer he stays in this forest, trudging along at a snail’s pace to accommodate for his injuries, the more he worries.</p><p>Anxiety gets the best of him around halfway through the forest, especially when he remembers the rumors that there was an unusual number of bandits in the area lately, so Sylvain veers off the well-traveled path and into a deeper part of the forest, hiding against a tree. He reaches into his pocket and takes out the cat charm, holding it tightly as he casts his glance up to the moon and tries to take his mind off of his concerns.</p><p>“Sylvain?”</p><p>Sylvain freezes right in his tracks when he hears the voice, but he calms down when he sees Felix step into view, the moonlight gently gracing his features. Sylvain can immediately tell that something’s wrong, seeing how Felix’s shoulders are trembling and how his face is flushed.</p><p>“Felix? What’s wrong?”</p><p>Felix takes a few slow, shaky steps towards him before running into his arms and hugging him tightly. Sylvain feels winded at the pain of his bruises flaring up, and tears of pain line his eyes, but he doesn’t let himself show his pain. Why should he? Felix is clearly more in need here.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” He pats Felix’s head.</p><p>“It’s Glenn,” Felix babbles, openly sobbing now. “Glenn’s—Glenn’s…” He cuts himself off with a small hiccup. He cries and buries his face in Sylvain’s shoulder. “He’s gone! He’s g-gone and he’s not coming back and—” Felix lets out a heart-wrenching wail.</p><p>Sylvain feels his chest twist up in sympathy. He hugs Felix tighter, even though his wounds are killing him. “What happened to Glenn?” He has a terrible feeling that he knows what Felix is talking about.</p><p>Felix can’t speak coherently. His words are warbling, drowning in grief and sorrow, and his stuttering breaths makes it hard for him to speak. Sylvain’s been there. He hates that feeling, especially the way that it feels like there’s a rock in your chest stopping you from breathing and the way that your voice cuts out randomly.</p><p>“It’s okay. I’m here. Take a few deep breaths, okay?” Sylvain sets his lance down and sits down. Felix follows his lead and sits down beside him, facing him. “Deep breaths, Fe.”</p><p>Felix copies Sylvain’s breathing patterns briefly before simply blurting out, “Glenn was killed in a battle tonight.”</p><p>Sylvain feels a chill go through him. He has never met Glenn, but from how Felix speaks about him, it was as if Glenn was his friend too—and now Glenn is dead. Felix must be heartbroken. Sylvain gestures in at himself, and Felix comes in for another hug.</p><p>“Goddess, Felix. I’m… I’m so sorry for your loss. I really am.” He shakes his head. “Let it out. I’m here for you.”</p><p>Felix bursts into another round of tears, clinging to Sylvain. Sylvain hold him tightly and sends a silent prayer for the Goddess to receive Glenn’s soul and to take good care of him. Sylvain isn’t particularly religious, isn’t particularly fond of the Crest-dependent world that the Goddess has created, but he knows that it’s the very least that he can do for the late Glenn.</p><p>Sylvain has never had someone in his family die. He’s never had to console the bereaved. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s been grief-stricken like this in his life before. This helpless feeling of guilt is driving him nuts—Felix has always been able to cheer him up through his own troubles, even if only briefly, but Sylvain has no idea how to help him at all when he seems to need it most.</p><p>But that doesn’t mean that he won’t try.</p><p>“Hey, Felix.” Felix looks up at him, sniffling and trembling. “I’m really sorry about this. I know how much you admired Glenn. You two were always really close from what you’ve told me and—and…” Sylvain thinks that this current line of thinking might just make Felix feel worse so he shakes his head and changes his approach. “This must be really tough for you right now—but that’s okay. You should take all the time you need to recover. ”</p><p>Felix is raptly listening to him, despite the tears dripping down his cheeks.</p><p>Sylvain starts to feel like he isn’t saying the right thing from Felix’s silence. He averts his gaze. “I… I wish I had the right words for this. I just want you to know that I’m here for you and that I really care about you.”</p><p>“Sylvain…” Felix rests his head on Sylvain’s shoulder. “It hurts.”</p><p>Sylvain quietly wraps Felix in another hug. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>After a silence, where Felix tries to calm himself down enough to say something and Sylvain struggles to think of anything fitting to say, Felix gives a small huff and wipes his eyes.</p><p>“Sylvain, do you know what my father said?” asks Felix quietly. “When he found out Glenn died?”</p><p>Sylvain cocks his head.</p><p>Felix’s expression goes dark, and that teary sheen returns to his eyes. “He said that he was proud that Glenn died an honorable death, protecting that—that <em>prince</em>. Is that all that matters to him? Honor? My <em>brother</em>—his <em>son—</em>just died!” Felix wipes his eyes. “How can he just say that?”</p><p>“That’s… That’s so…” Sylvain finds himself at a loss for words, save for a few curse words. Anger boils in his chest, but he doesn’t want to say anything that might upset Felix further so he calms himself down a little. “Fuck, Felix. That’s terrible.”</p><p>Felix silently pulls his knees up to his chest. “Glenn didn’t deserve to die like that.” His voice is small. “Glenn deserved so much more. I wish that this had never happened.”</p><p>Felix looks away, a painfully downcast look in his eyes. Sylvain would give his own life up in exchange for this grief-stricken look never to haunt Felix’s expression again, for Felix never to have to feel this awful.</p><p>Felix wipes at his eyes. “We’re preparing for his funeral starting tomorrow.” He sounds so defeated, so tired. It hurts to hear.</p><p>Sylvain finds himself speaking before he can even process it. “Well, maybe you can leave Glenn something special at his funeral.”</p><p>"Like what?”</p><p>Sylvain pauses, thinking of things that Felix could leave at a funeral. He can’t suggest that Felix leave flowers—it’s likely that everyone will be placing an assortment of flowers at Glenn’s grave. Instead, he needs something personalized, full of memories and love and effort. Sylvain smiles a little as an idea roots itself in his brain. He digs through his satchel, pulling out the worry charm.</p><p>Felix shakes his head. “That’s for you, Sylvain.” He sounds choked up, like he’s going to start crying again. “Glenn and I made it together specifically for <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“I know. I’m not asking you to take this to him. I’ll treasure this for as long as I live since it’s from you—and Glenn.” He looks down at the charm. “I’m thinking that maybe you can make him a charm yourself and leave it for him at the funeral.”</p><p>Felix’s eyes widen.</p><p>“We can make one for him together—like you two did for me.”</p><p>Felix scrunches his face up as tears start to slide down his cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice is so small that Sylvain almost doesn’t hear him. Almost. “I’d like that a lot, Sylvain.”</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain knows very little about woodcarving—no, that’s a lie. Sylvain knows nothing about woodcarving other than it’s the art of carving into wood. But he would hate to disappoint Felix so he does his best, even though he cuts himself a few times on the knife that Felix offers him and he feels like he’s wasting Felix’s time.</p><p>Felix had decided on a design, a shield named the Aegis Shield. It’s supposed to be important to the Fraldarius family, Felix had explained to him, and Glenn had always held quite some respect for it, claiming that he would one day wield it into battle as the eldest Fraldarius heir.</p><p>“It’s okay if it doesn’t look perfect,” Felix tells him, looking over his shoulder. “That’s what Glenn said to me. He said that it’s the thought that counts.” A pained look crosses his expression for a brief second, but he holds it back and averts his gaze. Sylvain wishes that he wouldn’t wear such a façade around him, especially when he was so vulnerable and honest earlier.</p><p>“I’ve never made a wooden charm before,” Sylvain admits sheepishly.</p><p>Felix shakes his head. “It’s okay. I think that Glenn would appreciate that you wanted to help.”</p><p>Sylvain ends up cutting the general shape out of the wood that Felix finds after looking around the forest for a good tree, eventually finding one and chipping out a large chunk with the sword strapped to his belt, and Felix tells Sylvain that he’ll finish the carving himself later. Sylvain hates how the charm looks, awkwardly pointy at some parts and clearly uneven, but Felix looks a little happier than he did when he came by with the terrible news so Sylvain prides himself in that awful wooden charm.</p><p>“I’m sure that you’ll make it look great,” he tells Felix as Felix heals the cuts on his hands. “The worry charm you and Glenn made was incredible so I have no doubts.”</p><p>Felix looks up and smiles a little at him—a tired, weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. But his smile quickly fades. “Wait. Have you always been… What happened to you?” Felix lets go of Sylvain’s hands and grabs his face in his hands. “Why are you so…?” Felix narrows his eyes and looks over Sylvain’s battered face.</p><p>Sylvain shrugs. “Hey, I guess that it’s just been a rough day for the both of us,” he explains with a small, tired smile of his own.</p><p>Felix’s frown twists downwards as he lets go of Sylvain. “No. No! You can’t just…”</p><p>“Sorry?” Sylvain supposes that it was pretty insensitive of himself to even bring his pain anywhere near the amount of pain that Felix was in over Glenn’s death. “No, I’m really sorry,” he repeats, a little more firmly. “I shouldn’t have—”</p><p>“You can’t just—just…” Felix shakes his head. “Please, don’t just pretend that you're perfectly okay. I just l-lost Glenn,” Felix tells him, his voice quivering when he speaks of Glenn. It seems that he still can’t bring himself to accept it. Sylvain doesn’t think he would be able to either. “I can’t lose you too.”</p><p>Sylvain blinks. “What, this?” He gestures at his face with a hand before waving dismissively, shaking his head. “Oh, it’s not that bad.” <em>But it is</em>, a tiny part of him whispers. <em>Isn’t that why we came out here in the first place? To run away?</em> “It looks worse than it is,” he says, as if to convince that little part of him to just shut up already.</p><p>“Don’t lie to me! I told you—over and over—that I can tell when you’re lying to me.” Felix glares at him. To Sylvain’s surprise, Felix’s puffy eyes, red from crying so often, start to tear up again. “I can’t lose you too,” he croaks.</p><p>Sylvain is quick to comfort him in any way that he can. He holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who says you’re losing me? I told you: I’m fine, Fe. Would I really be outside if I were all weak and feeble?”</p><p>"You’re such a liar! Stop it already!”</p><p>"You’re not losing me. Really. I just got into a bit of trouble. That’s all.”</p><p>Felix doesn’t look convinced. “Then promise me.”</p><p>“Of course. I promise that I’m perfectly fine. One hundred percent fine.” Sylvain tries to look at solemn as possible.</p><p>“No. Not that.” Felix averts his gaze. “Promise me that I won’t lose you <em>ever</em>—that you won’t die before me.”</p><p> “That doesn’t sound very fair.” Seeing Felix mourn like this over Glenn hurts Sylvain, more than words would allow him to ever admit. But he thinks that losing Felix—losing someone who’s always been there for him in his darkest moments, someone who’s always listened to him about his struggles and helped him feel better physically and emotionally, someone whose existence seems to be one of the only things keeping him from offering his own soul to the Goddess—would actually kill him. “I don’t want you to die before me either.”</p><p>Felix shuts his eyes. He takes in a shuddering breath and lets it out after a small pause. “Then we’ll die together.” He meets Sylvain’s gaze, looking determined despite the pain and grief that Sylvain can see hiding underneath his expression. A pleading look. “Promise me, Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain nods and matches the determination of Felix’s look in his own face. After all, Sylvain may have a track record of lying to cover up for the abuse and the horrors of being a Gautier, but he does intend to keep this promise. It’ll take the Goddess herself slaying Sylvain to stop him from keeping this promise.</p><p>“I promise. With all my heart.”</p><p>Felix’s expression lightens up just the slightest bit, though cautiously as though he doesn’t entirely trust Sylvain. “Don’t you dare die without me then.”</p><p>Sylvain smiles at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Felix.”</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain ends up sneaking back home roughly around sunrise, after the encounter with Felix in the woods. Felix had healed him and made sure that Sylvain knew how serious about the promise he was—<em>I really meant it, Sylvain, so keep your word.  </em>To his surprise, he finds that his mother and father are in the kitchen with a team of servants.</p><p>“It’s true!” a maid is telling the Gautiers. “I saw him sneaking out of the house during midnight!”</p><p>Sylvain feels terror clench his heart, feels dread and regret, but he holds that promise he made with Felix and forces himself to own up to the consequences of his actions, even though every bone in his body is begging him to turn around and run right out the door again. He holds that promise even as his father relentlessly beats him for his stupidity, for causing such trouble, for trying to shirk his duties. He holds that promise even as Miklan cruelly ridicules him afterwards.</p><p>And even though his life is awful, even though there are more times where he’s in pain than not, even though there are times that he thinks he’d be better off dead, he keeps his promise to Felix in mind and keeps moving forward.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's been a while since I've touched this fic, and I'm hoping that it doesn't show that much ^^;; It was kind of hard for me to write this chapter, but now that it's out of the way, I think that I'll be able to update a little more often!</p><p>I know that the fic might seem a little oddly paced and a bit rushed, but I have a bunch of things I want to do with this AU so I gotta start pushing the pace here. Also, I did have to change the year at which Glenn dies because it fits a little better in my AU like this. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. let him go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tensions rise and rise. Sylvain loses a part of himself.</p><p> </p><p>_____</p><p>A bit of a longer chapter because I couldn't stop myself from writing and I thought that this all kind of fit in together.</p>
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    <p>A few days after Sylvain learns of Glenn’s death, Sylvain finds Felix sitting on his windowsill, staring at the ground as moonlight filters in through the window and illuminates the hardwood flooring. He kicks his feet.</p><p>Sylvain feels so twisted, so awful. How could he feel so happy to see Felix when Felix has suffered so much? How could he feel excited to see Felix when Felix looks so tired and sad, with eyes swollen from crying and what seems like bags under his eyes? He suppresses the feelings of guilt and elation and instead settles for careful sympathy.</p><p>“Hi, Felix,” Sylvain greets after he’d shut the door. “What’s up?”</p><p>Felix looks up at him. Before Sylvain knows it, he has an armful of Felix, and they’re both lying on the ground. Sylvain’s back kind of hurts from how he landed, but he doesn’t care, looking up at Felix owlishly.</p><p>“Thanks for helping me with the charm,” Felix says. His voice is weak as a wisp, soft as silk—as if it physically hurts him to speak. Sylvain’s heart clenches. He grips Felix tightly. “I finished it and put it on Glenn’s grave.”</p><p>“I’m glad to have helped,” Sylvain tells Felix.</p><p>“I think he would have really liked it.” Felix buries his face in Sylvain’s shoulder.</p><p>Sylvain hums in assurance, in consolation. He rubs Felix’s back in small, calming circles. Eventually, Felix pulls himself up off of Sylvain and hovers near the windowsill. Sylvain sits up and watches him, waiting.</p><p>Felix eventually plops down on the windowsill and pulls his knees up to his chest. “I don’t know what to do right now.” He clenches his eyes shut. “I’m supposed to be here for you, and I’m supposed to be up with my father, but all he wants to talk about is Glenn.” He shakes his head. “I can’t talk about him anymore. It hurts.”</p><p>"You're always here for me, Felix, but you don't have to stay here if you feel overwhelmed. I can manage." Sylvain frowns. It hurts to say, but Sylvain knows that he can’t hold on to Felix forever. He probably isn’t that important to him. An angel probably has many, many duties, other than checking up on one stupid redhead every once in a while. Sure, he’d miss Felix and it’d suck being apart from him, but Felix has things he needs to do. “If anything," Sylvain continues, "I think that you should be with your dad.”</p><p>Felix looks up at him, hurt. Almost betrayed.</p><p>“Your dad lost someone too.” Sylvain takes a few steps towards Felix. “He probably just wants someone to share his memories of Glenn with him.” He sits beside Felix, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe if you two talk it out, you can feel a little better.”</p><p>“But I don’t want to talk to him,” Felix stresses. “He keeps saying things about how Glenn did the right thing and how he’s so admirable and great for dying like some—some idiot!”</p><p>Sylvain gapes a little and holds up his hands placatingly. “Whoa, Felix—”</p><p>"You think I want to sit there and listen to him say that garbage?” Felix huffs, but the anger weeps out of him quickly enough. He slumps back against the window and sighs, setting his arms atop his knees and resting his head there. “I’m just so tired of it." His voice warbles, trembles, stops. He takes in a small breath. "I miss Glenn, and I miss when my dad wasn’t so strict and heartless.”</p><p>Sylvain distantly recalls reading in one of his many books that one of the stages of accepting death is anger. Perhaps Felix is expressing his anger over Glenn’s death.</p><p>“He liked Glenn better,” Felix is saying as Sylvain tries to think of a way to calm him. “He liked Glenn more, and now that he’s gone, all he’s ever going to do it talk about how great Glenn was and how I should be like him and—and how it’s great to die for no reason at all.” Felix sighs again, though now tears are quietly dripping down his cheeks.</p><p>It kills Sylvain inside to think that Felix is suffering like this, living in Glenn's shadow with unattainable standards. But it also kills Sylvain to think that Felix's father is playing favorites. Anger boils up in his chest. He knows how that goes for both the favorite and the one cast aside; he and Miklan are a perfect example of how this goes wrong. To think that Felix could become like Miklan, burning with envy and violence, with hatred and yearning—Sylvain can't bear the very thought.</p><p>“I’m sure that’s not true," Sylvain hurriedly assures Felix. He smiles sympathetically. "Come on, Fe. He probably loves you a lot more than you think. I mean, he’s your father, and fathers love their kids, no matter what.”</p><p>Felix clicks his tongue. “Yours doesn’t.” As soon as Felix says those words, the bitterness in his expression fades and reveal guilt. He straightens up and gives Sylvain this wide-eyed look. “Sylvain,” he mewls. “I didn’t mean that. At all. I promise! I’m s-sorry.”</p><p>In that very moment, Sylvain feels a hundred years older, like he can feel the weight of being alive finally coming down all at once and crushing him like it’s gradually been doing all these years. Sylvain hurts. Goddess, does he hurt. He <em>wishes</em> that his dad loved him—enough to at least hesitate before trying to beat the soul out of him. He <em>wishes</em> that his dad loved Miklan so that Miklan wouldn’t feel so useless and hated by the world. He <em>wishes</em> that he had a normal, loving father. But he knows his father and he knows that this isn’t likely to happen any time soon. He knows there’s no changing him.</p><p>So he only smiles. Then a little snort escapes him as he thinks of this situation. Of course he knows his father doesn’t love him. Anyone with eyes could see that he only cares about his Crest and the Gautier name. A giggle. Felix watches with guilt-stricken eyes as Sylvain’s laugh slowly grows louder and more manic. He only stops when he hears a loud <em>bang</em> from the wall that he and Miklan share.</p><p>“Shut up!” Miklan snarls through the wall, following by muffled cursing that Sylvain can’t hear and doesn’t care to hear.</p><p>Felix gently holds out a hand and grazes Sylvain’s forearm, giving him a pitiful look. He opens his mouth to say something, but when Sylvain looks at him, Felix shuts his mouth. The pitiful look stays put on his face.</p><p>Sylvain chuckles and averts his gaze with a wry smile. “I know,” Sylvain manages softly as he slowly comes down from his laughing fit. “I know he doesn’t love me or Miklan. And I really don’t care. But yours definitely does, Felix. You know how I can tell?”</p><p>“Sylvain…”</p><p>“Because you’d light up whenever you told me about him—whenever you sparred together or ate dinner somewhere nice together or read a book as a family. You’d always be so happy.” Sylvain tries to make his smile as genuine as possible, tries not to look bitter or sad. “And I know that he might just seem like he’s focused on Glenn, but maybe you should give him a little time. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you—but there’s no doubt that he’s struggling too.”</p><p>Felix sniffles. The guilt-ridden look still mars his face. </p><p>Sylvain puts a hand over Felix’s. “It’s painful, I know, but maybe you should try to talk with him, at least a little bit.” He pauses thoughtfully. “But if you really just can’t stand it, know that I’m always here for you, Fe. I’ll hear you out.”</p><p>Felix shakes his head and squeezes Sylvain’s arm. “Sylvain…” His voice is soft and pleading, but Sylvain isn’t quite sure what Felix wants from him.</p><p>“Don’t be like that.” Sylvain smiles at him. “If you’re going to apologize, don’t. It didn’t hurt when you said that.” Sylvain starts to climb down the windowsill, but Felix refuses to let him go. He looks back at Felix.</p><p>“Yes, it did.” Before Sylvain can make his quirky little comeback—<em>how are you going to tell me how I felt?</em>—Felix gives him this tired, frustrated look. “I told you, over and over and over. I can tell when you’re lying.”</p><p>Sylvain <em>has</em> had a bit of a problem with lying lately—lying to get himself out of trouble, lying to get himself some attention and sweets, lying to keep himself protected. It’s become something of a habit habit. He won’t deny that. But maybe it’s getting more serious than he thought because he’s telling Felix, with full confidence, “What? I’m not lying,” before he even realizes it.</p><p>Felix lets go of Sylvain. “You are. I can tell,” he says again, softer.</p><p>“But I’m fine now, aren’t I? The past is the past; what happened happened, Felix, so you don't have to hold onto it.” Sylvain ambles towards his bookshelf, overly aware of Felix’s gaze on the back of his head. “Hey, how about we read something together?” Sylvain drags his hand over the spines of the books and grabs one at random. “Might help you take your mind off of things.” <em>And it might make you forget about you said to me,</em> Sylvain thinks, running his fingers over the pages of the book.</p><p>He looks over at Felix. “Maybe not." Felix shakes his head at him, but Sylvain already saw that answer coming. "I'm tired." Seeing how emotionally beat-up Felix looks—those eyes swollen and tired from crying, his lips pulled into a shaky frown, the way that Felix's small frame seems to curl in on himself—Sylvain expected nothing more.</p><p>Sylvain tucks the book back into the bookshelf. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you here. You’re free to leave whenever you want.” He walks over and lies down on his bed, his head propped up by his arms atop the pillow. He gives Felix a small smile. "I guess I'll go ahead and go to sleep too then." He waits, expecting him to leave, but Felix stays.</p><p>“Sylvain?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Felix steps over to Sylvain’s bedside and looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry for being mean about your father.” </p><p>Sylvain waves dismissively. “It’s fine. I told you.” When Felix looks unconvinced, Sylvain smiles again and continues, “You know I don’t hold very strong grudges anyway.” Still, a stern look graces Felix’s face. “Lighten up a little, Fe.” Sylvain sits up and cups Felix’s face in his hands, using his thumbs to try and smooth out the furrow between his eyebrows. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles with all that frowning.”</p><p>“I don’t care about wrinkles. I won't get them for a long, long time anyway,” Felix mutters. Sylvain pinches Felix’s nose, and Felix whines. “Hey!” He clambers onto the bed and pinches Sylvain’s nose back. </p><p>Before they know it, they’re playfully roughhousing on the bed. They roll and gently tug at each other’s faces, pinch arms and give small jabs to each other’s stomachs. Felix, especially ticklish, bursts into a little giggle every time that Sylvain pokes him in the side. Sylvain smiles, and Felix tries to hide his own smile, pouting at him, but in the end, Felix ends up laughing too.</p><p>“You’re dumb,” Felix says as they both sprawl out across the bed. “You’re dumb, Sylv.”</p><p>“Got you to smile though, didn’t I?” Sylvain flashes Felix a smile of his own, his heart feeling a little lighter at the sight of Felix without a cloud of concern lingering over him. He takes a moment to catch his breath before taking on a slightly more serious tone. “But do you think you’ll be okay? Y’know, with your dad?”</p><p>And just like that, the playful mood seems to ebb away into the dark night. Felix hesitates. He eventually sighs and nods. “I think so. Like you said, I think he just wants to talk about it. Maybe if I talk with him a little more…” He trails off. Sylvain thinks he gets the idea. He rolls over to face Sylvain. “Sylvain? Can I ask something of you?”</p><p>Sylvain turns his head to face Felix. “Of course.”</p><p>“Can I stay here the night?”</p><p>Sylvain stares.</p><p>“Because I don’t want to see my dad yet. I’m still a little mad at him, and I don’t want to think about Glenn.” He gives a small smile, but his eyes are tearing up again. “I can’t sleep, Sylv,” he adds like an afterthought, a whisper in the night.</p><p>Sylvain rolls over. “You’re welcome to stay whenever you want, but… won’t your dad get worried?” Sylvain reaches over and wipes away Felix’s tears. “I don’t want him to think that anything awful happened to you.”</p><p>Felix shuts his eyes. “He won’t.”</p><p>"And why’s that?”</p><p>“I wrote him a note that I was going to be visiting you.” Felix pauses. “I didn’t really say for how long, but if he gets worried, he can just come here and find me.”</p><p>Sylvain’s sure that there’s a hundred things wrong with this line of reasoning, but he doesn’t want to push Felix away when he needs emotional support like this—and there’s this small, selfish part of him that doesn’t quite want Felix to leave him alone just yet, doesn’t want to miss him when he’s gone for extended periods of time again. “Then, you can stay.”</p><p>Felix brightens and pulls Sylvain in for another hug. “Thank you, Sylvain.”</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain wakes up to a bright light in his room, the light emanating from his bedside. His eyes curiously look over at the light, and shock ripples through him when he sees a winged man standing there. Sylvain barely remembers that Felix is sleeping in his bed, snoring peacefully, when he jumps at the sight of the man and practically kicks him awake with a yelp. Felix grunts and sits up to see what Sylvain is gawking at.</p><p>“Father?” Felix mumbles, wiping his eyes.</p><p>“Felix,” the man says, and there’s obvious exhaustion in his voice. “There you are. I was worried sick.” He nears the edge of the bed. “I just about had a heart attack when I saw that you weren’t in your bed.” He holds out a hand. “Come now. Let’s go home.”</p><p>Felix stares at his father’s hand and flicks his gaze at Sylvain.</p><p>“I’ll be here,” Sylvain says reassuringly. “I’m always here.”</p><p>Felix pouts a little, but he climbs out of Sylvain’s bed and takes his father’s hand. His father pulls Felix in for a tight hug.</p><p>Felix’s father kneel before Felix and holds him at arm’s length, looking into his eyes. “Please don’t run off like that without telling me.”</p><p>“I did tell you,” Felix mumbles, pointedly not looking at his father. “Left you a note.”</p><p>Felix’s father sighs and shakes his head. “Oh, Felix.” But that's all he has to say. He stands and takes Felix’s hand again.</p><p>Felix looks back at Sylvain, who only smiles a little at him and waves his hand. Felix waves back before a great beam of light engulfs the room, seemingly sent from the sky. When the light fades, the Fraldariuses are no longer there, leaving Sylvain in his room all alone again.</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain hardly sees Felix after this encounter. In the rare cases that he sees Felix, it’s usually very brief with Felix citing that he’s busy as an excuse not to linger too long. It hurts because Sylvain doesn’t know what he’s done to push Felix away, but when Felix insists that they’re still friends, it eases his concerns and pain a little.</p><p>Sylvain sees Felix for the last time in years when Miklan gets disowned by House Gautier.</p><p>There were rumors of Miklan engaging in certain acts of crime with a few friends in the dead of the night. A few maids claim that they’ve seen him sneak out of the house and return very late; a few townspeople claim that they’ve seen Miklan roaming around with a group of bandits. Though Miklan fervently denies all of these, it’s pretty obvious that he is.</p><p>Sylvain can attest to this. He himself has caught Miklan sneaking out of the house and coming back drunk, holding onto money or jewelry that most <em>definitely</em> do not belong to House Gautier. And once, Sylvain swore that he saw Miklan coming in, covered in someone else’s blood, muttering to himself about the mess.</p><p>He hadn’t known what to do because if he told his parents, they would give Miklan hell—and Miklan could come back and torment him for snitching. But at the same time, this was not a good look for House Gautier, which could make his father burn with fury.</p><p>In the end, the guilt of holding onto this knowledge eats him up. He writes an anonymous note, detailing everything that he’s seen Miklan do and even references the stolen goods that could be found in Miklan’s room, and places it on his father’s desk.</p><p>Shortly after, he hears his father roar Miklan’s name, slamming his office door hard enough to make the house feel like it’s rattling. Sylvain flinches and stays in his room, childishly wrapping himself in a blanket and trying to focus on the book he’s reading.</p><p>But he can barely focus on the words, can barely hear his own thoughts, when there’s screaming just outside his room. He hears the sounds of his father and his brother arguing, then he hears the distinct sound of someone getting beat. From the sounds of it, it seems that the margrave is beating Miklan quite viciously—hard enough to make some maids beg and plead for him to stop when they regularly wouldn’t comment on it.</p><p>But he keeps going for some time.</p><p>When he’s finally done, Sylvain can very clearly hear him snarl at Miklan, “Pack your shit and leave. You have disgraced us for far too long. I should have done this <em>years </em>ago, when you tried to kill the only acceptable Gautier heir. Miklan. You are no longer a Gautier.”</p><p>He hears Miklan protest and argue, but his father has made up his mind, yelling at him to get out of his face already. He hears Miklan trudge up the stairs towards his room, and then he hears silence.</p><p>The silence that follows is somehow even more terrifying than when his father and Miklan were arguing, were physically hurting each other. Time seems to halt altogether.</p><p>Finally, he hears some sound. He hears Miklan on the other side of his wall, knocking things over and yelling and damning the Gautiers and the Goddess herself to burn a fiery death. He hears Miklan punch the wall, hard enough to make the paintings and mirrors on Sylvain’s wall tremble. One of the paintings actually tumbles to the floor. He hears Miklan slam his bedroom shut.</p><p>And there’s another pause. More silence. Sylvain holds his breath.</p><p>Miklan kicks Sylvain’s door open and bursts in, looking beat to hell. He’s covered in his own blood, with split skin and cuts, and he’s covered in bruises that bloom in terrible shades of dark red and black all over his body. Murderous intent burns in his eyes.</p><p>Sylvain freezes in terror as Miklan marches up to him and pulls him out of the bed.</p><p>“You,” he hisses, holding Sylvain up by the collar of his shirt. “It was you, wasn’t it?” It’s a question, but it isn’t phrased like one.</p><p>Sylvain doesn’t have a chance to respond. Miklan swiftly punches him in the face. Sylvain’s vision shakes, and his eye throbs in pain.</p><p>“It’s always you,” Miklan spits at him. “It’s <em>always</em> you. Everything in my life was ruined by you.” Miklan winds up to hit him again, but Sylvain barely manages to block his face with his arms, though now his arms ache where he hit him. “Look at you. You’re ruining this for me too?” Miklan gives a sarcastic snort. “All you do is ruin lives and make people miserable. You should just go and die already.”</p><p>“Miklan,” Sylvain says, trying to keep his voice even, but Miklan doesn’t let him continue, instead striking Sylvain again and tossing him on the ground. “Miklan,” he tries again.</p><p>“Shut up!” Miklan roars, mercilessly kicking him and beating him. He shakes Sylvain, smashing his head into the ground. “Just shut up! You don’t get to say my name when you’ve ruined my life! I never had the chance to live my life the way I wanted because of you! You are the bane of my existence, you pathetic little worm!”</p><p>Sylvain does his best to fight back, but hesitance marks his every movement. He doesn’t want to hurt Miklan. It’s clear that he’s hurting enough. And he knows that this is all his fault. Does he really have a right to fight back, especially considering that he has a chance to use his Crest against Miklan? Even if he doesn’t mean to? Nevertheless, he does his best to block Miklan’s hits and dissuade him from hurting him even more.</p><p>Miklan wraps his hands around Sylvain’s throat in a crushing grip. “Die already! Just die!”</p><p>Sylvain struggles, prying at Miklan’s hands. Miklan grips tighter. He gasps for air, and his vision goes dark for a second. He reaches up and swats at Miklan, trying to hit him, but he’s weak from the beatings he’d taken. Sylvain bucks and wriggles, but this only expends his energy and tires him out. He knows this—it’d be a miracle if he didn’t know this after all the time he’s spent with Miklan—but he’s so desperate to get Miklan off him.</p><p>Sylvain’s vision grows darker and darker; his body feels weaker and weaker. A thousand emotions and a thousand thoughts haunt him, urging him to act out, but all he can manage is to reach up at Miklan’s hands again. Miklan gives him this nasty grin.</p><p>“Miklan!”</p><p>Miklan’s grip falters at the sound of Sylvain’s father, and Sylvain manages to deliver one harsh strike to Miklan, hard enough to get him off him. Sylvain scoots away from Miklan, propping himself up against a wall and wheezing. He reaches up and wipes away the blood streaming down from his nose, from the top of his head.</p><p>“I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my house.”</p><p>Miklan growls.</p><p>“I’ll call the Gautier soldiers unless you get out of here in the next minute, you understand? Get out!”</p><p>Miklan casts one more, dirty look at Sylvain and storms out of the room. Sylvain slowly pulls himself up into a upwards position as his father crouches in front of him.</p><p>“Pathetic,” his father mutters, eyeing the state that Sylvain’s in. He glares at Sylvain. “How can you call yourself a Gautier if you can fend off some stupid thug? After all that training? How can you call yourself a man?” He clicks his tongue. “What, are you looking to get disowned too?”</p><p>Sylvain winces as he sits up. “Father—”</p><p>“I don’t want to hear it.” His father cuffs Sylvain’s head and stands up. Sylvain’s hand immediately fly up to his head, where it now aches where his father hit him. “Get this mess cleaned up.” As he leaves, he mutters, “Why can’t I have a competent heir?”</p><p>The door slams behind him.</p><p>His room is drowned in silence again.</p><p>Sylvain slumps against the wall and lets out a small breath of relief. He looks around his room. While he and Miklan were fighting, they seemed to have knocked over quite a number of things, leaving his floor covered in books and stationery and clothes. A few spots are marked with his and Miklan’s blood.</p><p>His gaze drifts to the windowsill as he scans his room.</p><p>Felix is sitting there. When they meet eyes, Felix makes his way over.</p><p>“That looks pretty bad,” Felix says quietly.</p><p>“Oh, does it now?” rasps Sylvain sarcastically. Sylvain tries to stand, but it makes him dizzy. Felix steadies Sylvain and instead sits him down on his chair by his desk. Sylvain swats Felix’s hands away. “I can fix it myself.” Sylvain reaches to grab his first aid kit, hiding in the drawer by his desk. “I know how to.”</p><p>“Just let me help you.”</p><p>“I don’t want your help.”</p><p>Felix frowns. “What’s this about?”</p><p>Sylvain sighs as he opens up the first aid kit. “Why didn’t you do anything?” he asks. “Why do you only ever come in after everything’s gone to shit?” His trembling hands rifle through the first aid components before settling on grabbing a washcloth to wipe away his blood.</p><p>Felix rolls his eyes and grabs the washcloth out of Sylvain’s hands. “Don’t be stupid.” He gingerly dabs at Sylvain’s bloodied nose and the split skin on his cheek, lip, and forehead. “How am I supposed to know when you’re going to get into some trouble?” After a while, he gives up with the washcloth and tosses it aside, instead relying on his white magic to heal Sylvain. A cool wave of magic washes over Sylvain and numbs the pain as his wounds slowly close up and heal. “Besides, I’m not supposed to interfere when others are around.”</p><p>Sylvain frowns. “So you’d rather listen to some rules and watch my brother beat the fuck out of me? And nearly <em>kill </em>me?”</p><p>“What do you even want me to do?” Felix snaps. “Disobey the rules? They’re set in place for a reason, you idiot.”</p><p>“Yeah? Then what’s the reason?”</p><p>Felix fixes him with a glare.</p><p>“So you don’t even know?”</p><p>Felix shakes his head. “I <em>do </em>know, but it’s none of your business.”</p><p>Sylvain sighs but says nothing more, trying to calm himself down. Yet, with everything happening like this, Sylvain can’t help but to feel tired of everything, to feel angry at the world. His brother has tried time and time again to kill him, including just now; his father does nothing about it and gets on his case for not “being a real man.” And to top it all off, Felix was probably just sitting right out of sight of the Gautiers while this all happened.</p><p>It hurts to think that everyone hates him. That no one wants to help him. Not even his family, not even his friends. Not even Felix.</p><p>The room is tense as Felix finishes healing Sylvain. Felix takes a step back and crosses his arms.</p><p>“Sylvain.”</p><p>“What?” Sylvain can hear the tiredness in his own voice.</p><p>“I’m not some wish-granting genie. I can’t come in here and give you everything you want. I’m an angel, and I have certain rules to follow.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Felix’s expression twitches. “Then stop blaming me for not being able to stop every minor inconvenience. Can’t you tell I <em>want</em> to help you?”</p><p>Sylvain feels his anger ignite in his chest. “Minor? You think this was a minor inconvenience?” He stands up out of his chair and points at his door. “You think <em>that</em>—my brother busting in to beat the life out of me and my dad giving <em>me</em> shit for not beating him—is a minor inconvenience?” He throws his hands up.</p><p>Felix’s indifferent look flickers, showing a hint of remorse for a split second. But it’s quickly replaced with frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that.”</p><p>“You clearly did!” Sylvain pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up and giving Felix a hurt look. “How can you call yourself my friend and say these—these awful words?”</p><p>Felix glares at him. His face is turning red. Sylvain can’t tell if it’s because he’s angry or because he’s going to cry. “You know, I really thought you were different from other humans.” Felix huffs. “But you’re not. You’re just like the rest of them. You’re selfish, and you’re critical—but you won’t ever look inwards at yourself.”</p><p>“What? That’s just not true!” Sylvain wants to argue more, but Felix shakes his head, taking a step back.</p><p>“If you don’t want me calling you my friend, fine. Then you aren’t my friend, and I’m not yours. And I won’t ever see you again.”</p><p>When Sylvain hears that, something finally clicks, and his anger starts to fade. Perhaps he had let his anger get the better of him. He shouldn’t have let himself take his anger out on Felix. He feels awful. “Felix. Felix, wait—”</p><p>Felix is still giving him a dirty look, though now tears line his eyes. “I hate humans,” he mutters. “I hate them so much. They killed my brother, and now you—you… You just <em>pretended </em>to like me so I would help you.”</p><p>“That’s not true!” Sylvain blurts. “You’ve always been my friend!”</p><p>Felix doesn’t appear to want to listen to him. He sniffles, wipes his eyes, and regains composure enough to coldly say, “Goodbye, Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain calls after him, desperate tears pricking his eyes, but a heavenly light illuminates Felix. Felix shuts his eyes as the light envelops him. Sylvain clumsily stumbles forward, a hand reaching out for Felix, but he manages to barely brush his hand before he feels nothing.</p><p>When the light fades, Felix is gone.</p><p>-</p><p>For years and years, he doesn’t see Felix. No matter how much he prays to the Goddess for forgiveness, no matter how hard his father beats him, no matter how many terrible thoughts leave him wishing that he were dead, Felix doesn’t come back. He even tried to pray to Felix directly, apologizing for being so incapable of controlling his temper and for upsetting him. But nothing works.</p><p>Eventually, Sylvain loses all hope that Felix will come back. It leaves him confused. Perhaps Felix was never real. Perhaps he had created an imaginary friend to help him cope with his terrible life. Perhaps he had fallen deep into the belief that Felix was real.</p><p>But isn’t it pathetic that he couldn’t even please his imaginary friend? That he did his best to be a great friend and managed to hurt him and push him away? He hurts those who are related to him; he hurts those who love him; he hurts those he loves. He hurts himself. Why couldn’t he be a good person, loving towards people around him and capable of being loved?</p><p>Sylvain ends up doubling down. If he can’t be a person worthy of love, then he’ll just have to get people to love him in his own little way. He perfects his ability to lie, to hide his true emotions, to please people. He makes himself into a heartthrob to feel something—to feel loved, to feel appreciated, to feel.</p><p>But he can never stay committed. He doesn’t truly feel anything beyond superficial attraction. He can’t love anyone who sees him just as his Crest or his looks. He can’t love anyone as twisted as his parents were, as strict and cruel as society. Once he gets a hint that someone’s after him for his Crest, he’s already tired of seeing them.</p><p>Sure, it hurts when people yell at him and slander him and slap him after he breaks things off with them or supposedly cheats on them, and yeah, the good feelings of being loved or happy never seem to last, but this is just a way of finding someone else to help him feel something. And maybe it’s even a way of punishing himself—<em>you don’t deserve happiness</em>, he tells himself, <em>after all those lives you’ve ruined and after all those people who’ve pushed away.</em></p><p>When Sylvain enrolls Garreg Mach at age nineteen—Sylvain’s surprised he even managed to survive through nineteen miserable years of physical and mental torment—he’s built himself quite a reputation amongst his friends and even amongst people who have never met him before as a womanizer. People warily eye him and never have anything nice to say to him, except maybe the other members of the Blue Lions, but he’s a bit used to that at this point.</p><p>Even so, he keeps his disposition lax and happy.</p><p>After Sylvain hastily packed his belongings with the help of a few servants and promised his parents that he’d bring them pride and prosperity while at the academy, he finds his dorm room, which is marked with a note that bore his name on it. He steps in and starts to unpack.</p><p>While unpacking, he stumbles upon a little wooden charm, one of a cat with a little metal clasp at the top. Distantly, he remembers that this charm had supposedly been given to him by someone—an imaginary friend. A family friend must have given it to him, and Sylvain’s younger self must have pretended that someone friendly and close had given it to him as a gift. It’s a little beat-up and dusty, but Sylvain blows the dust off and it looks like it’s held up rather well for its age.</p><p>Nostalgia fills him with a sad sort of warmth. He wouldn’t admit this out loud, but he kind of misses his imaginary friend. It was nice having someone who cared for him, even if he did manage to piss him off and scare him away into leaving. That thought hurts—to think that younger Sylvain was in so much agony that he imagined someone to help him escape it all—but it was little sweet that he could imagine someone so caring and fun.</p><p>At first, he kind of wants to throw it away. <em>I’ve outgrown this little thing, this little ‘worry charm,’ </em>Sylvain thinks to himself as he gives it a little flick and watches it spin, suspended in the air and hanging from the clasp between his fingers. <em>I have nothing to worry about. I mean, no one can hurt me anymore. Unless it’s myself.</em></p><p>However, the more Sylvain stares at the charm, the more he likes it. The warm and soft memories associated with the charm simply outweigh the sad memories. Memories of playing outside in the summer with an angel boy, of lying on his bed and reading a book together, of sparring together and having to console the angel when he burst into tears, thinking that he actually injured Sylvain—they all envelop him in this soft fuzziness that leaves him almost yearning for those times, even though he was always hurting then.</p><p>He ends up hanging the charm up on the wall of his dorm room, right above his desk with a small smile. Then he continues to unpack as he hums a little tune, oblivious to the fact that somewhere, lurking above in the heavens, an angel watched him silently—that somewhere, this angel had always been watching him, always hearing his pleas.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Years apart brings Sylvain and Felix closer in the end—distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life at Garreg Mach is oddly calming and liberating.</p><p>Garreg Mach is quiet. There’s never much commotion, even during training sessions. Arguments hardly ever happen—and if they do, they’re usually solved before they can get too violent. There’s always a soft murmur of voices throughout the monastery, gently gracing the setting.</p><p>Garreg Mach is a pretty place with nice weather, if a little hot at times—but Sylvain supposes that being raised in the north makes him less tolerant of heat. The warm weather is perfect for training, for idling about in the courtyard with friends, for taking long naps out in the shade. There are tons of friendly cats strewn about the monastery, trying to take advantage of the warm sun for a nice nap, and there are a few dogs too, trying to get students and faculty to play in the grass.</p><p>There is so much that one could do at Garreg Mach, and it’s so freeing that Sylvain isn’t constantly being watched by his father and his mother to make sure that he’s upholding the Gautier name to perfection. Hell, he doesn’t even get that many letters from his father like Ingrid does. It’s almost as if his father simply paid for his tuition and forgot about him, which Sylvain isn’t too opposed to. As long as he reports that he’s still alive and getting acceptable grades, his parents won’t write back to him.</p><p>Maybe that’s why Sylvain isn’t particularly taking his studies seriously. Studying has always been easy for him anyway. He attends his classes, takes notes, and never needs to look over them again, instead opting to spend his time around his lovely friends and his lovelier lady friends.</p><p>Sylvain might be infamous for taking and breaking hearts, but Garreg Mach, filled with people from all over Fodlan, seems to be so big that his negative reputation doesn’t seem to always precede him. Even if it did, there are some women who are so enamored with his Crest and the Gautier wealth that they don’t seem to mind.</p><p>The days all seem to blend into each other seamlessly.</p><p>One day, out of the blue, Sylvain gets a love letter, asking him to come to the bridge connecting the cathedral to rest of Garreg Mach at midnight. There’s nothing particularly strange about it—it’s touched with the slightest hint of a flowery perfume and written in a curvy, pretty handwriting just like the rest of the letters he gets—but something about it intrigues him. Perhaps it’s the way it’s worded; perhaps it’s location where it asks him to come.</p><p>Either way, Sylvain’s never been one to keep a lady waiting, especially one who is kind enough to take time out of her busy day and write him such a letter.</p><p>A few minutes before midnight, he’s standing at his mirror, tousling his hair to get that perfect level of boyish and unkempt to his look without looking like he just rolled out of bed. He’d already spritzed on a tiny bit of cologne and had on his clothes. When he finally thinks he’s done, he sneaks out of his dorm.</p><p>To his surprise, when he gets to the bridge on the cathedral, there’s not a girl there but a boy, who crosses his arms as Sylvain comes to a stop in front of him. Sylvain vaguely recognizes him as a student from the Blue Lions house, but he’s never gave this boy much thought.</p><p>“Well,” Sylvain says, raising an eyebrow and putting on his most charming smile, “I can’t say that this is the first time I’ve gotten a letter from a man, but it’s welcome nonetheless.”</p><p>The man wrinkles his nose and gives him a grim look. “You really are an abhorrent lowlife. You flirt with anything that moves.” He narrows his eyes. “I’m not here to try and flirt with you. I asked my friend to write you that letter to draw you out here.” When Sylvain only gives him a confused look, he continues, “You made her cry when you broke up with her only to go out with someone else only a few hours later!”</p><p>Sylvain tries to recall who this man is referencing, but every woman that he’s courted seems to meld together, especially the women from the monastery. Distantly, he thinks, <em>Maybe this is a sign that I should stop.</em>  </p><p>The man takes a step towards him, jabbing his index finger into Sylvain’s shoulder to emphasize his words. “You’re a heartless monster. Do you know how it feels to be replaced like that? Do you know how much she cried over you?”</p><p>Sylvain raises his hands in an appeasing manner and takes a step back, but the man only advances, looking just as angry as before.</p><p>“How do you just go around and make poor girls cry like that? When they’re being so genuine with their feelings? You can’t just treat people like they’re your playthings!” He balls up his fists at his sides. “You can’t just <em>throw people away </em>when you’re done with them!”</p><p><em>They aren’t genuine,</em> Sylvain thinks, but he holds his tongue. <em>If you’d seen the things I’ve seen—if you’d see the way that they treat me and talk about me behind my back. If you knew that they were only in it for wealth. </em></p><p>“Hey,” Sylvain says, in his most calming tone, “I’m sorry if I upset you and your girlfriend but—”</p><p>The man bristles as he cuts Sylvain off. “She’s not my girlfriend. And she shouldn’t have to be for me to care about how you’re treating the girls at our academy. Any rational person can see that you’re just ruining people’s lives here!”</p><p>The more that he speaks, the angrier the man seems to become. His anger builds and builds until finally, he slams both his hands into Sylvain’s chest and shoves him hard.</p><p>Before either of them know it, Sylvain’s foot gets caught on the battlement, and he’s stumbling between two of the brick merlons of the bridge, his eyes wide in surprise. The man looks shocked too, even trying to reach out and grab Sylvain’s arm to steady him.</p><p>But it’s too late. The momentum of that strong push forces him backwards, over the side of the bridge. He plummets, falling faster and faster as he falls to the ground.</p><p>Sylvain’s heart leaps up to his throat as he falls backwards towards the endless rows and rows of thick, evergreen trees and jagged rocks. Time feels like it slows down exponentially, sluggishly pulling him to the ground. Falling thousands of feet towards the unyielding ground as the air whips his hair around, and his clothes are rippling from the force of the wind, Sylvain casts his gaze to the stars above, to the moon, to the large cathedral.</p><p>The cathedral looks pretty, bathed in the moonlight. Even if Sylvain isn’t the most religious person, he wonders if he should start repenting before he hits the ground and meets the Goddess. He wonders if he should beg for the forgiveness of all the women he’d upset, for the forgiveness of his brother and his parents, for the forgiveness of all his friends that he probably let down. Ordinarily, people would be screaming and filled with terror, filled with the fear of death and the longing to do so much more with their lives, but all Sylvain feels is a resignation and a muted sense of regret.</p><p>If he dies, wouldn’t it be so much better for everyone else? No women at the monastery would be upset by him anymore. Ingrid and Dimitri wouldn’t have to pick up after his mistakes. The teachers could even benefit in having less things to grade. And hey, maybe if he died, his parents would feel inclined to try and make amends with Miklan so that they wouldn’t die without an heir—well, Sylvain has his doubts about that.</p><p>It’s then that he sees something. A shadow, perched atop one of the spires at the very top of the cathedral. The shadowed figure stands up, silhouetted by the moonlight.</p><p>Then, they jump.</p><p>Sylvain watches, stunned in awe, as the figure falls down the side of the Cathedral at a breathtaking speed. Their clothes seem to flutter in the wind; their long, long hair seems to whirl and whip in the air behind them, like impatient waves dancing in the ocean.</p><p>And to make things even more fascinating, a pair of wings, the same kind that grace the backs of the marvelous Pegasus, seems to spread as they fall towards him.</p><p><em>It’s such a shame that I’m going to die,</em> Sylvain thinks as he watches the figure glides towards him swiftly, <em>but at least I’ll die seeing something so mysterious and fascinating.</em></p><p>Sylvain feels like he’s falling on borrowed time yet he dares not look down at the ground coming up faster and faster towards him. He finally shuts his eyes and prepares to hit the ground, to have his body’s momentum halting at the impenetrable ground, to feel that split moment of impact of his bones shattering before he blacks out forever.</p><p>Yet that moment never comes.</p><p>Instead, he falls against a firm pair of arms, and his body is pulled tightly to someone’s body. The sound of the wind rushing by his ears doesn’t stop, but he doesn’t seem to actively falling anymore.</p><p>He peeks an eye open and finds that winged figure, a man with pale skin and long dark hair, is carrying him with a frown. The figure looks down at him, his amber eyes glinting in the moonlight, for a split second.</p><p>“You’re heavy,” he mutters.</p><p>Sylvain is too stunned to say anything other than a meek, “I’m alive?”</p><p>The man says nothing more. He flies under the bridge, swiftly and easily dodging the tips of the trees that seem to reach for them, sprouting up from the ground. He eventually stops at the little spot north of the courtyard, a place just before the bridge, and he gently sets Sylvain on the ground.</p><p>After falling from the bridge, Sylvain feels nothing but a little nauseous and dizzy. He wobbles a little on his legs when he stands, only for the man to right him with a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks.</p><p>“No, no, I’m okay.” Sylvain shakes his head a little and just stares at the man. He has long, dark hair that lingers near his waist, tied in a low ponytail, but other than that, he feels oddly familiar. He feels like he’s seen these tired, amber eyes before, these wings, these robes. He feels <em>so</em> familiar. Without thinking, he asks in a small voice, “Felix?”</p><p>The man crosses his arms and gives him a flat look. “Stop looking at me like that.” After a pause, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nice to see that you <em>do </em>remember me.”</p><p>Sylvain gawks at him. “Felix?!” he repeats louder as his words finally connect. He stumbles back a little. “You’re <em>real? </em>I thought you were just like—like a weird imaginary friend I had as a kid!” He shakes his head. “No way. There’s no way. I’m definitely dead.” Sylvain pats down his body, as if expecting his hands to phase right through. They don’t.</p><p>Amidst the chaos of this reunion, Sylvain remembers that Felix has never shown himself to anyone but Sylvain. He remembers the boy that had pushed him off the bridge and looks around, as if expecting him to be there, watching everything unfold. Yet, no one is around. <em>He must have run off, </em>Sylvain thinks.</p><p>Felix sighs. “Of course you’d convince yourself of something as stupid as that.” Felix crosses his arms. “Yes. You’re alive. And I’m real.”</p><p>Sylvain can’t help but to feel like his world is filled with color again. He remembers his memories of Felix quite fondly, even if he had thought that they were spent with someone imaginary. They were his happiest moments as a kid, the perfect getaway from a ruined childhood. To think that Felix was real this entire time—and to think that he grew so bizarrely <em>pretty</em> with his sharp gaze and that <em>long</em> hair and his nice, smooth voice—just makes Sylvain incredibly happy.</p><p>Sylvain springs up with a great smile on his face, startling Felix a little. “That’s so crazy! It’s been so long! Where have you been all this time?” His smile starts to falter a little. “Well, I guess I did piss you off all those years ago so you wouldn’t want to see me again, but hey! It’s great to see you again!”</p><p>Felix’s expression shifts from something once flat and borderline exasperated to something a little less tense. Melancholy tints his expression slightly. “I’m not mad at what you said, Sylvain.” Felix looks down at the ground.</p><p>Sylvain frowns. He remembers their argument with embarrassing clarity. His heart had clung onto all the words he wished he could have said then. He had wished for years that he had been more articulate, that they had both been more understanding and patient with one another. Perhaps this is the Goddess giving him a chance to right things with Felix.</p><p>However, right as he opens his mouth to apologize, Felix holds up a hand, stopping him.</p><p>“Don’t bother.” Felix meets Sylvain’s eyes. “I don’t want to hear it.”</p><p>Sylvain feels his insides coil anxiously at that. For some reason, he feels more anxious apologizing to Felix than he does when he’s breaking up with his girlfriends.</p><p>Sylvain’s worries start to slowly fade away as Felix continues speaking. “I don’t care anymore. It’s been years, Sylvain. I’m not petty enough to hold onto an argument that we had years ago, when we were kids. You shouldn’t be upset about that anymore either.”</p><p>Sylvain frowns. “But you wouldn’t come visit me? Not once? Even just to hang out or listen to me apologize?”</p><p>Sylvain feels an odd feeling of bitterness welling up in his chest, overriding the anxiety. He's been through all these years without Felix's presence, holding onto a conversation that has haunted him as much as the exile of his older brother. Felix just shrugged it off, like it meant nothing. It was underwhelming, Felix's reaction, but Sylvain supposes that there's always going to another opportunity to talk about it. Right now, Felix seems rather impatient, as if he's just one second from being scared away in the same way that birds take off when you get too close.</p><p>Sylvain's just going to have to keep an eye on Felix. Keep him close so he doesn't fly away again—but keep his own heart guarded at the same time. At least until he figures Felix out a little more. </p><p>“I’ve been busy.” Felix sets a hand on his hip. “And you’ve been doing fine without me.”</p><p>His instinct is to argue, <em>No, I haven’t</em>, but instead, he settles for smiling. His instincts alert him that he's being lied to, that Felix might not be entirely honest with him—for once, Felix seems to be lying to him—but Sylvain doesn't want to argue. Not tonight. “You’re right. I’ve been alright, I think, but it’ll be more fun to have you around, you know?”</p><p>Felix looks taken aback by Sylvain’s response. His eyes widen a little, his eyebrows raised, but quickly, he scowls. “Even after all these years, you <em>still</em> can’t get it through your thick skull that I can tell when you’re lying, huh.”</p><p>“What lie?” Sylvain asks innocently. <em>And you think I can't tell when you're lying? You're worse than I am, you know, </em>Sylvain's thoughts tease. Felix heaves a heavy sigh in reply so to break the tension, Sylvain quickly continues, his tone more serious and his voice quieter, “No, but honestly, you’re right. Miklan isn’t around in my life anymore, and I’m happy here.”</p><p>Felix’s expression relaxes. “Good for you.” He rolls his eyes. “But you need to stop getting yourself into these kinds of situations. Cut it out. Your flirting is troublesome. For both of us.”</p><p>There’s a lot that Sylvain wants to say to Felix. Thoughts regarding the flirting and the trouble, regarding the unsaid but mutually accepted apology, regarding his disappearance and sudden reappearance flit around in his head. He’s missed this friend so dearly, a disappearance that shook Sylvain to his core and sent him spiraling back into the darkness of a lonely and pained childhood.</p><p>Instead, he can only joke, “You know, maybe I’ll flirt some more.” Felix narrows his eyes at him. “I mean, if getting myself into trouble means I get to see you again, why not, right?”</p><p>Felix sighs. “You really do only think of yourself.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me.” Sylvain grins cheekily at Felix. “If it means getting closer to death to get my friend closer to me, then maybe I should.”</p><p>Another sigh wracks Felix’s body as he flicks Sylvain a pointed look. “You can’t cry wolf forever, Sylvain. It won’t end well.”</p><p>“You’d let me die?”</p><p>His response is quick. “No, but—”</p><p>“Aww, you do care about me! Even after all this time!” Sylvain smiles as Felix shakes his head, clearly exasperated. Sylvain is reminded vaguely of how Felix when he was younger—how he’d get pouty and cry so easily. “It’s okay, Fe. I won’t let either of us die. I have a promise to uphold.”</p><p>“Promise?” Felix echoes. His body relaxes a tiny bit. “You remember that?”</p><p>“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”</p><p>Felix’s expression flashes some kind of emotion that that Sylvain can’t quite decipher, but it’s too gone in a flash. “Well, then stay alive and stop putting yourself in these kinds of dangerous situations already.” He takes a step back. “I have to go, Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain’s joy starts to dim down at the thought of his friend leaving him again. “Where to?” He hates to sound so needy, so clingy, but he hasn’t seen Felix in so long—so long, in fact, that Sylvain convinced himself that Felix never existed.</p><p>“I have things to get to.” Felix’s body starts to glow, as if touched with a divine light, but right before he leaves, he tells Sylvain, “But I’ll be back.”</p><p><em>A promise</em>, something in Sylvain insists. <em>He’s making another promise. That he won’t leave for a long period like that again. That he’ll be back again, more frequently.</em></p><p>Sylvain watches as the light envelops Felix. In a flash, he’s gone, as if he'd never been there in the first place; but Sylvain is left feeling oddly warm, invigorated with a new promise and a new reality.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Really long-haired Felix rights!! 🥺🥺</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. battle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Life at the monastery only seems to be getting more and more lively, especially with the introduction of a new professor.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Sylvain wakes up the next morning, he’s a little disappointed to see that his room is still empty. He supposes that it was rather silly to expect anything different. After all, Felix had said he was busy. It only makes sense that Felix wouldn’t be there, waiting for him or anything. It doesn’t make him feel any less disappointed though.</p><p>The rest of the day drags on as normal. Sylvain heads to the morning prayer, then his classes. He hardly pays attention and heads out to the training hall for the students’ mandatory training sessions, only to spar with Ingrid who, as always, doesn’t bat eye at Sylvain’s flirts. He eats his meals in the company of some lovely girls who he wins over with a charming smile and a few compliments. He attends evening prayer, mandatory training again, and spends some of his free time lounging about the courtyard.</p><p>Felix doesn’t show up.</p><p>So Sylvain waits again. <em>He’ll show up eventually,</em> he reasons, <em>and we can spend time like we used to while we were young. We can hang out in the monastery. I can skip class and we can spend time in my dorm, just talking. Or maybe I’ll take out my chess board, and we can actually play a game or two.</em></p><p>Sylvain keeps his hopes high. He doesn’t want to let Felix leave his life again, right after they’d been reunited after years. Yet, the next day slowly passes by without Felix. Then the day after that. And the day after that.</p><p>In the end, the whole week finishes without another sighting of Felix. Not a single glimpse out of the corner of Sylvain’s eye.</p><p>But Sylvain’s hopeful still, even if a part of him chastises him for his childish optimism. <em>After all you’ve been through, </em>his inner pessimist chides, <em>after all Miklan and Father have done to you, you’re </em>still<em> going to cling to the hope that he comes back? </em></p><p>But he’s hopeful still, even as days and days continue to pass without so much as a word from Felix.</p><p>Then, something big happens at Garreg Mach—something so big that it manages to wrench Sylvain’s attention away from Felix.</p><p>A professor is introduced to Garreg Mach after saving the leaders of each of the three houses. She’s quite an enigma, hardly ever speaking or smiling. She wanders about the monastery, listening in on conversations and giving short answers to any questions. Sylvain even gets a chance to meet her, asking her to grab a bite with him and a few girls.</p><p>The professor doesn’t particularly say anything to his flirting. She hardly reacts at all actually. Sylvain finds it interesting, considering that any commoner—and quite a number of noblewomen—would die to catch the eye of the Gautier heir.</p><p>What’s even more interesting is that the professor picks the Blue Lions House, right in time for the mock battle between all of the houses.</p><p>It takes everyone by surprise, it seems. Sylvain, always excited for something new and a new professor to deal with his flirting and tomfoolery, and his fellow Blue Lions are pleasantly surprised by their new professor, happily accepting their new professor, Byleth.</p><p>The days of instruction leading up to the mock battle go by seamless, as if Professor Byleth has been a part of their lives for all this time. She spends time with the Lions, eating with them and chatting with them in her free time. She even stops by to invite Sylvain to eat some sweet and salty whitefish sauté, which is one of Sylvain’s favorite foods.</p><p>She isn’t particularly talkative, even as they eat, but it’s alright since Sylvain’s quite talented at carrying a conversation. It helps that Annette is there to match his energy as they speak with Professor Byleth, who intently listens and occasionally jumps in with her own anecdote or conversation.</p><p>Though Professor Byleth boasts no prior experience in teaching—in fact, she claims that this is her first time doing such a thing—her teaching is brilliant. She cuts out all the unnecessary, academic jargon and teaches practically, with direct and simple words. Sylvain feels like he learned more from her than he had learned from Professor Manuela and Professor Hanneman combined.</p><p>Well, in their defense, Sylvain’s focus in studying has never been very magic-related. It’s been that way since he was young.</p><p>Sylvain feels <em>odd </em>about this new professor. He feels like he’s already growing attached to her. A fun, young professor, who genuinely seems to care about her students—a whole new mystery to crack.</p><p>Yet, there’s a part of him that envies her, loathes her even. She has had a Crest throughout her entire life, but she’s never been treated like the way that Sylvain has—a prized racehorse to show off and breed with others. She’s never been forced to keep her options limited, never been worried about who was being genuine with her and who was just trying their shot at being close to such a bloodline, never been worried about her status.</p><p>Sylvain keeps his complex feelings at bay when she comes by to chat with him, plastering on a bright smile with a witty and flirty line for her. He won’t let his façade crack—at least, he won’t until he figures out what’s going on with Professor Byleth.</p><p>-</p><p>The mock battle is a success. Sylvain had been benched for this battle—the professor instead opting to take along Dimitri, Dedue, Mercedes, and Ashe—but he was more than happy to sit out and watch his house win the mock battle with flying colors. Professor Byleth’s leadership had been unparalleled.</p><p>However, their joy at the mock battle is short-lived. News breaks of bandits, and Garreg Mach is tasked with defending the people of Fodlan from such heartless degenerates.</p><p>Lady Rhea chooses to send the Blue Lions to deal with the issue. Professor Byleth’s performance at the mock battle must have convinced Lady Rhea of something, but Sylvain can’t help but to feel sick at hearing all of this.</p><p>Bandits? There’s only one name—one face, one <em>person—</em>that Sylvain thinks of when he hears that word. All he thinks of is his disgraced brother, filled with hate and rage, as he turns against the Gautiers and joins a gang of brutish bandits. All he thinks of is how his brother could have been saved, could have stayed somewhere safe and less risky, could have been happier, if he himself hadn’t been born. If he hadn’t stolen that title as the rightful heir to the Gautier inheritance when he was born.</p><p>Perhaps his thoughts are haunting him too much, and little cracks in his façade are starting to show. Professor Byleth comes to speak with him, mostly out of what seems like curiosity, but when Sylvain opens his stupid mouth, his thoughts come tumbling out clumsily.</p><p>“Our first assignment is to take out some bandits?” Sylvain fights back the urge to frown. “Did anyone tell Lady Rhea that people’s lives are at stake? I lost my own brother to bandits.” Bitterness and hurt coat his words.</p><p>The professor’s face contorts into one of sympathy, a frown tugging the ends of her lips downwards. It’s what cues Sylvain in to what he had said.</p><p>“…Is something someone has said at some point, I’m sure,” Sylvain hurriedly adds with a small smile and a nervous laugh. When Professor Byleth notably does not laugh along, Sylvain clears his throat and averts his gaze. “OK. Not my finest attempt at humor.”</p><p>That comment draws a small smile from the professor, seemingly one of exasperation, but worry does not leave her eyes. She gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder as she walks away, probably to go pester other students. Sylvain watches as she leaves, something painful stirring in his chest.</p><p>The night before his class sets out to hunt the bandits, Sylvain hardly gets a wink of sleep.</p><p>His heart races in his chest as he imagines himself seeing his brother amongst the bandits on the battlefield. He imagines Miklan spotting him, that <em>oh-so-familiar</em> expression of hatred and fury on his face as he charges towards him and runs him through with his lance. He imagines fear gripping his heart, stopping him in his tracks as Miklan curses his name to the skies and finally kills him for good. He imagines falling on the battlefield before he has had a chance to truly be himself.</p><p>He imagines dying before he's ever truly even fallen in love or been happy and free.</p><p>Seeing one of the people who had terrified him throughout his childhood and actively tried to hurt and even <em>kill </em>him fills Sylvain with an incapacitating kind of dread, the kind that makes him want to lie in his bed with the blanket pulled tightly around his trembling, curled up body. He isn’t ready to face Miklan like that. He isn’t ready to die for real. Not yet.</p><p>But a tiny part of him, that painfully pessimistic side of him, pipes up as it tends to do when Sylvain thinks about his past. <em>You’ve never wanted to be alive. What’s with the back-pedaling all of a sudden?</em></p><p>Sylvain drowns out the pessimism and his noisy, jittery heartbeat with a few cups of chamomile tea.</p><p>In the morning, Sylvain’s body feels like an anchor, heavy and weighed down. His head is throbbing, and his eyes feel like they’re a second from falling shut. Yet, he manages to get dressed for the battle and get in a few warm-ups before meeting with the rest of the Lions in the entrance hall.</p><p>The Blue Lions are abuzz with some sort of nervous energy. They’re chattering, their weapons clattering as they jiggle their legs impatiently. While Dimitri and Dedue stand off to the side, probably waiting for the professor to arrive, the other Lions chat amongst one another, particularly Mercedes and Annette who are talking about both everything and nothing at the same time.</p><p>Their energy baffles Sylvain, who can barely comprehend his own thoughts.</p><p>When the professor finally shows up and Dimitri and Ingrid announce where they are all heading, his House seems to be invigorated with ambition, with bravery, with chivalry. Promises of taking down the thieves, protecting Dimitri, testing their true strengths in a real battle all come up from his eager classmates.</p><p>Sylvain knows that it’ll seem uncharacteristic if he stays silent, and the last thing that he wants is to draw attention to himself, so he jokingly makes a comment about some cute lady thieves, which earns him a typical eye-roll from Ingrid and a small head shake from Dimitri.</p><p>The journey to Zanado, the Red Canyon, is grueling on foot, but it isn’t very far. The ground they traverse on slowly becomes steeper and rockier as they navigate their way through the Oghma Mountains. The sun beats down mercilessly on everyone, and Sylvain, one of the poor Faerghans raised in the very north, feels like he’s close to passing out from his stuffy armor and the sunlight.</p><p>At least he can take his mind off the whole thing by listening to his classmates. Ashe tries to raise morale by telling a tale of a few knights on a perilous mission, just like the one that they are on, and Mercedes, Annette, and Ingrid listen intently. Dimitri and Dedue march on in the front with the professor, probably discussing battle tactics, leaving Sylvain wedged in-between two separate conversations.</p><p>He isn’t in the mood to talk about something light-hearted as a knight’s tale when he’s about to slay bandits that very well may just include his brother. He isn’t in the mood to discuss the various ways to cut off the bandits and murder them all. He doesn’t want to hear any of it so he doesn’t listen to any of that.</p><p>If anyone notices how hard Sylvain is gripping his lance or how little he’s said, they don’t say anything.</p><p> When they finally reach Zanado, there are plenty of bandits, practically itching to fight. After briefly discussing an impromptu strategy regarding the bridges there, the Blue Lions set out to crush the bandits.</p><p>Sylvain’s eyes dart around the land. Though most of the bandits are wearing armor that covers up a good portion of their bodies, Sylvain doesn’t see anyone who looks like they could resemble Miklan. He doesn’t see the telltale red hair of Gautiers, and he doesn’t see anyone looking to him specifically. He breathes out a small sigh of relief, but still keeps himself sharp and braces for battle.</p><p>The Blue Lions pile onto the first bridge. Ashe fires an arrow from the back of the group. It arcs through the air and buries itself in the arm of a bandit, who howls in pain. Dimitri rushes forward, closely followed by Dedue, and thrusts his lance through the bandit’s torso. Sylvain can’t help but to wince at how the corpse collapses to the dust-covered ground.</p><p>Keeping Mercedes and Annette behind him, Sylvain hurries onto the bridge, following the opening that Dimitri and Dedue had created. Ingrid and Professor Byleth join him, creating a blockade so that their distance-based fighters are safe from being attacked head-on.</p><p>One of the bandits quickly runs up with a shout and swings his sword at Sylvain, a downward slash that would have certainly been his end had it not been for his reflexes. He jumps aside; the blade grazes him, cutting him from his shoulder down to his elbow. Sylvain grimaces in pain but assumes a defensive stance.</p><p>Sylvain anticipates the worst, a strong, skilled fighter with years and years of experience who can easily see through Sylvain's movements, but it turns out that the bandit isn’t trained like Sylvain is.</p><p>His swipes are sloppy and weak. They reek of desperation. Sylvain tightens his grip on his lance, parrying and blocking his hits though he does make mistakes and get hit a few times. He watches the man cautiously until he finds an opening. Once he’s spotted it, Sylvain is unstoppable, a rush of adrenaline forcing him forward. He buries his lance in the man’s abdomen, shuddering at how the point of the lance stops and slides sporadically as it slowly pierces through organs.</p><p>The man groans and gargles as he writhes in agony. He staggers backwards, dropping his sword, and Sylvain pulls his lance away from the man, leaving him collapsed on the ground. It feels like it takes the man forever to stop moving; it feels like Sylvain watches the man curse and gasp for air, trembling and squirming, for an eternity.</p><p><em>Sloppy</em>, he tells himself. <em>That was sloppy. I need to be faster. Stronger. Braver. </em></p><p>And for a split second, he sees Miklan’s amber eyes, sees his red eyebrows scrunched in agony and rage, in the fallen bandit’s face. Fear courses through his body, but pity and guilt gnaws away at his consciousness. What if this had been <em>him</em>? What if this had been a man, neglected by his family? What if this had been someone who had just wanted to be happy and loved, only to have that all stripped away from him?</p><p>What if this had been Miklan?</p><p>Before he knows it, he’s speaking to the man. “I had to do it,” he whispers, his voice meeker than it’s been in years. “Don’t hate me, please.”</p><p>He hardly has a chance to think again because an arrow whizzes through the air from behind him as Ashe, giving him a concerned look, tries to move around him. Sylvain shakes off his guilt as best as he can and pushes on.</p><p>As sickening as it is to admit it, Sylvain starts to get a knack for killing the bandits more and more as he fights them. He learns to use his lance to block and parry better, learns how to kill faster. He’s doing pretty well at keeping himself and his friends alive.</p><p>But he’s tired. He hardly slept the night before. He didn’t eat breakfast. Just walking to Zanado practically winded him. He keeps tripping over his own heavy feet, missing straightforward dodges, taking hits he shouldn’t.</p><p>That’s how he finds himself in this situation.</p><p>His classmates and his professor are all advancing with good speed, cutting through the bandits and making their way to the leader, but Sylvain starts to slowly lag behind, leaning against his lance to try and catch his breath once in a while. His body aches and burns from all the damage he’s taken, and his limbs and head feel so heavy—but he still carries on, trying to move forward.</p><p>A bandit, one who he and his classmates had assumed was dead, catches him off-guard, charging at him with his axe raised in the air. Sylvain doesn’t have time to react, and he clenches his eyes shut, waiting for the blow to end his life.</p><p><em>Is this how I go out?</em> Sylvain’s bitter thoughts deadpan. <em>By some random bandit?</em></p><p>The unmistakable clang of metal on metal forces Sylvain to open his eyes. That wasn’t him.</p><p>Oh, the shock and twisted joy that Sylvain feels when he sees a familiar man standing in front of him, blocking the bandit’s axe with his own blade. Felix bats the bandit’s axe away and, with one swift slice, finally kills the man.</p><p>Felix quickly turns his attention to Sylvain. His gaze is worried, but his expression is stern. Angry even. “I thought I told you to stay alive.” Felix doesn’t give Sylvain a chance to respond, instead hurrying forward and shoving a glass vial into his hands.</p><p>Sylvain looks down at the vial, and when he looks up, Felix is gone. Almost like he had never been there in the first place. Almost like a dream, washed away by consciousness.</p><p>Sylvain looks around, and when he sees that his classmates are up, fighting the leader, he realizes that Felix must have showed up at the last possible second that he could—right when he wasn’t surrounded by anyone who would see him. The other bodies around him are dead, and the bandit only got to see him for a split second.</p><p>It still doesn't quite make sense to Sylvain of who is allowed to see Felix and who isn't, but he thinks that he's slowly making sense of it.</p><p>Sylvain, as if driven by instinct, pops the cap off the bottle, and immediately, a familiar, herbal scent drifts out of it. It’s a concoction, a ‘healing’ agent. Sylvain smiles a little to himself before he downs the bottle. The effects are immediate, leaving him feeling rejuvenated. His wounds stop hurting, and he stops bleeding.</p><p>Of course, the concoction only numbs his pains and stops his bleeding, just long enough for him to stay alive. It doesn’t actually heal him; it gives him the feeling that he’s healed. The effects should last until he finally sees a healer to actually tend to his wounds, but until then, Sylvain feels perfectly fine.</p><p>When Sylvain manages to get to the bandit leader, now fallen with his friends celebrating their victory and the fact that they <em>survived</em>, Ingrid is to first to see him.</p><p>“Sylvain,” she huffs, furrowing her eyebrows, “where have you been all this time?” Her words are curt, annoyed. Sylvain can hear the true underlying meaning, though—<em>I was worried about you.</em></p><p>Sylvain laughs and offers Ingrid a wink. “Well, I did say that I might see some cute lady bandits, didn’t I?”</p><p>Ingrid’s worry immediately fades, leaving her exasperated. “Forget I even asked.”</p><p>But when Sylvain smiles at her, a softer and more genuine smile than his fake flirty ones, she relaxes a little.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. closure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain finally confronts his brother and Felix.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life at the monastery, once freeing and lazy, seems to be getting more and more tense.</p><p>Sylvain had thought that bandits were just a one-time occurrence—that they were just a few crooks who decided to act up for whatever reason. Little did he know that the bandits were only the beginning of a series of terrible events.</p><p>The next month, the Blue Lions are chosen to deal with Lord Lonato’s rebellion.</p><p>Leading up to the mission, everyone had been quite concerned, confused, scared, especially Ashe, but the day of the mission rolls around mercilessly, and the Lions kill soldiers through the mist, following Catherine. by the end of the day, they kill Ashe’s adoptive father, leaving Ashe—bright and happy Ashe who’s always friendly and willing to help in any way that he can—despondent and numb. Sylvain tries his best to console Ashe, but Ashe doesn’t seem to want to hear it from anyone, keeping to himself.</p><p>It isn’t very much like when Felix’s brother had died—with Felix coming to see Sylvain no matter what, crying and seeking comfort. Sylvain supposes that everyone grieves a little differently. He gives Ashe some space.</p><p>And if that wasn’t bad enough—if slaughtering citizens of a village, fighting for something that they fervently believed in, leaving many dead and even more traumatized—the month after that, enemies attack the Holy Mausoleum during the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth. The Blue Lions are again deployed to defend the Holy Mausoleum and Saint Seiros’s bones.</p><p>Sylvain wishes that the next month could play out peacefully. He wants to go back to having no stress. He wants to go back to spending his free time as he pleases rather than relentlessly training for missions. He wants to go back to thinking up ways to summon Felix without nearly killing himself and getting Felix upset.</p><p>But Sylvain isn’t naïve. He knows that it can only get worse. With all the talk of assassination and mutiny and Heroic Relics, Sylvain knows that this is bound to end in catastrophe unless mysteries starts getting uncovered soon.</p><p>When the Blue Lions’ next mission is announced, Sylvain feels shock and fear swallow him whole. It’s as if the ground was ripped from beneath his feet, his breath wrenched from his lungs. Just the sound of his name alone is enough to send Sylvain’s heart-rate skyrocketing.</p><p>Ingrid had been standing next to him and had given him a pitying look, but when Sylvain just shook his head, forcing out, “Always making me clean up after his messes,” under his breath, Ingrid must have taken that as a sign that he was alright—or, at the very least, a sign that Sylvain didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself at the moment.</p><p>“Remind you of someone?” she had teased.</p><p>But when Sylvain is alone, sitting in the very corner of his bed with his back pressed up against the wall as he faced the door, his fears don’t leave him. Every slight bang, every slight knock against the wood of his door makes his heart jump, and his mind irrationally taunts him.</p><p><em>Miklan’s coming for you,</em> his mind taunts. <em>He’s stolen that fancy little Relic, and now he’s coming for you to finally finish the job. He’s terrorized everyone because of your existence, because he was cast away—so it’s time to pay for what you caused. You’re living on borrowed time.</em></p><p>His thoughts are terrible, fearing the man who has tried to kill him all those years ago, but ironically, he feels safer outside of his room. He’s surrounded by stimuli that take his mind away from his terrors—pretty girls, his friends, his classes.</p><p>That’s probably why Professor Byleth is able to stumble upon him, out in the open rather than secluded in his room. Her pitiful expression says all that she’s thinking—<em>are you okay?</em></p><p>Sylvain can’t respond with how he really feels. He wouldn’t want to dump all his fears on a poor unsuspecting person like that—plus, even if he wanted to, he doesn’t think he could physically force himself to do that right now. Instead, he furrows his brows.</p><p>“I’m so sorry my older brother is causing you all this hassle, Professor.” Her expression quickly changes from sympathetic to surprised. “Don’t misunderstand, I always thought he was a piece of garbage—” <em>Tone, your tone</em>, Sylvain chides at himself internally, <em>take that bite out of your tone</em>—“but I never thought he’d steal the Relic.” He forces a small smile on his face. “I can’t wait to see his face when he realizes I’m in the group that was sent to take him down.”</p><p>A frown graces the professor’s face. She looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t say anything for a bit, putting her arm on Sylvain’s arm.</p><p>"Sylvain,” she says, her voice soft, “if you need anyone to talk to, I’m here.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine, Professor. Don’t stress about it. It’s not as big a deal as you think.” Sylvain flashes her his typical, coquettish smile. “But if you <em>insist </em>on having company, I’d be more than happy to come with.”</p><p>That earns an exasperated smile from her. Her eyes are still clearly worried, her eyebrows knitted together in sympathy, but she leaves him alone from then on.</p><p>But his terrible thoughts still persist, a swirling tempest of dark thoughts and terror and guilt. Sylvain isn’t sure how he’s going to go through the mission, how he’s going to confront the man that has terrorized innocent civilians and himself, how he’s going to watch his brother die.</p><p>Even now, he can’t fathom Miklan just <em>ceasing</em> to exist. Miklan has always been a looming part of his life, threatening him and hurting him throughout his youth. Even when he was exiled, Sylvain had feared that Miklan would come back and try to kill him; even when Sylvain was enrolled in Garreg Mach, Sylvain had feared that Miklan would somehow find him again. He was just <em>always</em> there, in the back of Sylvain’s thoughts.</p><p>And even amongst all the fear and hate and anger battling each other in his chest, Sylvain can’t particularly deny that he pitied Miklan. In the end, he manages to keep his fear as minimized as possible, trying to turn his fear and hurt into anger and hatred.</p><p>Sylvain just hopes that he can keep himself together in front of his class—his friends and his professor and the rest of the army—just long enough for him to get to his room.</p><p>Ingrid and Dimitri—and even Dedue, but Sylvain’s pretty sure that’s only because he’s bound to follow Dimitri wherever he goes—check up on him from time to time. Neither of them are particularly subtle in how they approach him, often just directly asking if he’s alright or if he needs anything. Sylvain appreciates it, but he can never bring himself to ask anything of his friends, especially when one’s busy planning strategies with the professor to defeat his brother and the other is dealing with a litany of letters from her father.</p><p>Sylvain is thankful—eternally thankful—but waves off their attempts to help.</p><p>There’s nothing that they could do anyway. This is between him and Miklan.</p><p>The days flit by at a dizzying rate, and no matter how hard Sylvain digs his heels into the ground and begs the Goddess to give him a little more time to emotionally prepare before meeting Miklan again—before watching someone whose entire life was ruined because of the Crest system, his parents, and Sylvain—time turns a deaf ear to his pleas and continues marching onwards.</p><p>Before Sylvain knows it, his class is setting out to Conand Tower. Dimitri and Gilbert are talking with Professor Byleth as he walks with the rest of the class. Sylvain hears just a snippet their conversation, but he hears the concern and anger in Dimitri’s voice before he registers anything that he’s saying.</p><p>“Did you see the local villages?” he’s saying. “They were in rough shape, no doubt because of the thief attacks.” Sylvain can’t see Dimitri’s expression from where he’s standing, but he can hear the anguish on his face. “They’re not going to make it through the winter in that condition.”</p><p>The professor considers this, a frown on her own face.</p><p>“If the thieves had taken up pillaging in order to survive, that would be deplorable…but understandable. But this…” Dimitri’s voice picks up a hint of anger. Hate, even. “This is something else entirely. It looks as though they destroyed those villages for pleasure.” He pauses, as if remembering that Sylvain is within earshot. His voice goes back to something more stern, professional. “No matter what their reasons may be, that sort of behavior cannot be allowed. Ever.”</p><p>Sylvain’s feet are pushing him forward before he knows it. Dimitri, Gilbert, and the Professor turn to look at him as he starts speaking.</p><p>“Don’t bother losing your head over those lowlifes, Your Highness. It’s wasted effort.”</p><p>“Sylvain…” Dimitri, diffident that Sylvain had heard him probably, frowns. “The thieves’ leader… the one who stole the Relic. Word has it he’s your older brother. I know he’s been disowned, but…”</p><p><em>You don’t need to tread so lightly around me,</em> Sylvain wants to say. <em>You know for a fact that it’s him. You’ve met him. You’ve talked with the Professor and maybe Rhea too. You </em>know<em> it’s him.</em></p><p>“He is no longer a member of House Gautier,” he says instead, keeping his composure, “or my brother. He’s nothing more than a common thief.”</p><p>Dimitri wears that pitiful expression, sympathetic—sad for Sylvain. “Are you sure about that?” He’s still being careful. “It would be understandable to find this situation, well, <em>regrettable</em>, to say the least.”</p><p>“Regrets? Heh, you must be joking.” Sylvain feels a wry smile forming on his lips. His confidence doesn’t waver, but his heart still stammers and shakes in his chest. “You know we’re far past the point of regret. And it always falls on the younger brother to clean up the mistakes of their elders, doesn’t it?” He nods at the professor and Dimitri, walking towards the tower.</p><p>He blocks out the sound of his classmates murmuring behind him as they progress to the top floor.</p><p>When they finally reach the top of the tower, when they finally see thieves scattered about the halls, Sylvain braces himself and turns to his classmates.</p><p>“Don’t hold back for my sake,” he tells them. “My brother is going to pay for everything he’s done.” He narrows his eyes as his professor nods and prepares to lead them through battle.</p><p>The battle is harsh, but all battles are. Sylvain and the Blue Lions cut through the thieves that march towards them. The tower where they are is vast and looping, large enough that Professor Byleth seems to sense that there’s even a little alcove where treasure is stored away so she sends Ashe to retrieve it. At the very top, Sylvain knows that Miklan stands there, waiting for them to approach.</p><p>Sylvain is in the front lines, fueled by an adrenaline that he’s never really felt before. Every step forward leads him closer to Miklan; every fallen thief leads him closer to closure. His mind is clear, and he spots archers aiming over the tall wall towards his classmates.</p><p>While Gilbert lags behind, the Blue Lions surge forward, climbing stairs and dodging a slew of arrows from above. To their surprise, reinforcements are quick on their feet. Rogues from the lower floors, from the southeast staircase, climb up and rush forward to attack those in the rear, though Gilbert takes care of them rather well.</p><p>In their path, reinforcements show up to ambush them, but they’re practically useless against the Blue Lions. His class is tightly knit in an impenetrable formation, with Sylvain, Dimitri, and Dedue in the front and the ranged fighters in the back. Near the back, Professor Byleth picks up stragglers and ushers her students forward.</p><p>Like rushing water, their class quickly flows in and invades the next floor—effortlessly, smoothly, powerfully. They overwhelm the forces with their synced attacks. Where one attack ends, another begins. It’s a constant attack, and the thieves cannot hold up, cannot defend themselves nevertheless their comrades. They fall, one by one.</p><p>Until the reach the last floor, the very top of the tower.</p><p>Sylvain locks eyes with Miklan. He recognizes the surprise in his eyes, then the anger—the hatred. It’s so familiar yet there’s more in his look. More anger, more hate, more violence. Instinctively, Sylvain’s body wants to hide away so that Miklan can’t hurt him like he did all those times before.</p><p>But his heart wants something else. It wants to bring Miklan to justice for terrorizing all those innocent villagers and himself. It wants closure.</p><p>Sylvain adeptly dodges the attacks of the thieves surrounding his brother as his classmates take them on. He distantly hears Ingrid calling out for him, begging him to stop and wait for everyone else, but his mind is elsewhere. Sylvain heads straight for Miklan, riding in on his horse with his lance held tightly.</p><p>“Why have you come, you Crest-bearing fool?” Miklan snarls at him.</p><p>The years have not been kind to Miklan. Scars and wrinkles mar his face, his hands, his beat-up armor, and dark circles hang under his eyes. It’s as if he had spent the years steeped in his own wickedness as he rotted away—as if he began to look just like his black and shriveled heart.</p><p>“I’m here for the Lance of Ruin, Miklan,” Sylvain announces, his voice bold and unwavering. “Hand it over. I don’t want to humiliate you, but I will.”</p><p>Miklan scoffs. “Hmph!” He sneers and takes on a defensive stance. “Hurry up and die already.” Miklan’s grip on the lance noticeably tightens, enough to the point where his hands are practically shaking. “If not for you,” he mutters. His voice grows louder, angrier. “If it hadn’t been for you!”</p><p>Sylvain squares his shoulders and grits his teeth as Miklan speaks before he snaps. “Shut up!” he screams at him. “I’m <em>so</em> tired of hearing that! You’ve always blamed me for something that isn’t my fault!” Sylvain sits upright, his expression turning cold. “And I’ve had <em>enough </em>of it. This is the end, Miklan.”</p><p>Sylvain’s horse rears up before charging at Miklan. Sylvain grips his horse’s reigns tightly and swings his lance. Miklan blocks the hit, but he’s too slow to parry. Sylvain takes this chance to strike again. It’s sudden enough to knock Miklan’s balance askew.</p><p>As Miklan works to right himself, Sylvain feels his hand waver as he guides the lance down into the chinks of his armor, into his flesh. Miklan lets out a hiss of pain and jerks away. He manages to swing the Lance of Ruin at Sylvain, knocking him off his horse. Sylvain lands in a roll and rights himself to his feet immediately, gripping onto his own lance.</p><p>“Fight me on even ground like a <em>real</em> man,” Miklan taunts. “Are you <em>that</em> much of a coward? You can’t even fight me on foot with that Crest of yours?”</p><p>Sylvain feels his temper rising as he throws himself into combat against Miklan.</p><p>Sylvain’s skill level is leagues greater than Miklan’s, having been trained officially since he was little. Miklan’s parries are poorly timed, his blocks amateur and slow, and Sylvain can find his weak spots to consistently aim at them. Miklan’s swings, however, are ridiculously strong—like he’s truly fueled on his desire to kill Sylvain once and for all. Sylvain manages to get caught on the lance a few times, struck along his arms and parts of his torso.</p><p>“You can’t stop me, you <em>brat</em>,” Miklan snaps at him, followed by a particularly strong blow. Sylvain grunts at the strike, glares at Miklan’s malicious smirk. “This is how it ends. This is how it <em>should </em>be—me with this lance, and you <em>dead</em>.”</p><p>Sylvain can hardly hear the chaos of his peers killing the other thieves. His mind is so focused on the way that Miklan feints and jabs, the sound that the lances make when they hit armor or each other, the feeling of his own heartbeat throbbing in his hands. Sweat pours down his face, and his hands are trembling. He can’t tell if it’s because he’s tired, enraged, or scared, but he just knows that they’re trembling a little.</p><p>Nonetheless, Sylvain manages to land one more hit, one that draws a fair bout of blood. Miklan jumps back.</p><p>It’s then that Sylvain realizes that it’s pouring outside. Lightning strikes, illuminating the tower, The light flashes and lights up Sylvain’s face, silhouettes Miklan’s.</p><p>“Not bad,” Miklan sneers, wiping the blood away from his mouth, “for a bunch of spoiled rotten children.”</p><p>Sylvain grits his teeth, but something catches his attention. The Lance of Ruin in Miklan’s hands begins to exude a bright red light, right from its Crest Stone. Miklan seems to notice too with a jerk of pain, looking down. He gapes when a black and red substance, sticky and liquid-like, erupts from the stone, coating the Lance. It squishes and sloshes as it slithers towards Miklan and encircles his arm.</p><p>“What the hell?!” Miklan cries out.</p><p>Miklan desperately pulls at the substance, writhes and thrashes his body about, but the substance persists. It quickly climbs up his arm, encases his body, and starts to climb up his neck. Miklan lets out terrified cries as the light from the Lance of Ruin’s Crest Stone begins to pulse ominously, as the black and red matter pulls him under and under.</p><p>Sylvain freezes in terror when he sees Miklan’s terrified face, forced upwards as he screams in agony—when he sees the black and red material pry open his eyes and slither in, when he sees the matter enter his mouth and nose. For a split second he sees Miklan’s eyes, almost pleading with him to help, before he’s enveloped in a swirl of the pulsating substance, looking like red and black ocean rippling with waves.</p><p>It’s horrifying. It’s disgusting. It’s unreal.</p><p>“Damn!” a voice blurts out behind him. “Look at that… I’m outta here!”</p><p>“Hold on!” another bandit calls.</p><p>Sylvain casts his gaze back, and he watches as the bandits, once loyal to Miklan, all cry out and flee, pushing past the Blue Lions if they can.</p><p>Sylvain hears a grotesque tearing noise, and when he looks back at Miklan, the odd red and black substance is discharged in a puff of red smoke, practically flying off and revealing a terrible, bony beast. Sylvain’s heart nearly stops at the sight of the—the <em>thing</em>.</p><p>With its claws and its wicked maw, its glowing red eyes and its spikes, it looks exactly like a creature straight out of nightmares. It flicks his head side to side before locking its gaze on a bandit who had stayed behind. It quickly closes the distance between them and grabs the screaming bandit and tears into his body with his teeth before carelessly discarding its body over its shoulder, the corpse slamming into the wall with enough strength to cause the stone walls to tremble and come cascading down in a cloud of dust.</p><p>It thrashes, its tail crashing into the wall and its claws tearing into the stone flooring. Its rampage is briefly paused when it sees Sylvain. It lets out a ghastly howl, saliva flying from its gaping maw.</p><p> Sylvain finally finds his voice. “What the—Miklan?! Is that you?!” he blurts out, stumbling to his horse and trying his best to calm her. The monster only growls again before charging directly at him. Sylvain throws a leg over his horse and gets on her, just barely pushing her out of the way of a clawed swipe. His horse lets out a squeal.</p><p>“What <em>is</em> that?” he whispers, newfound fear coursing through his bloodstream. His voice shakes a little, and his heartbeat jackrabbits. <em>It’s like watching a bad dream come to life.</em></p><p>What the hell happened? Sylvain had been fighting Miklan normally when that—that <em>beast</em> appeared, having enveloped Miklan. How was that possible? What did Miklan do? What happened to Miklan?</p><p>“Sylvain?!” Ingrid’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Hang in there! We’re coming!”</p><p>The rest of the Blue Lions, at the stairs, start to flood into the room, weapons at the ready. Sylvain dodges another swipe and stabs at the massive bony hand with his lance, making it cry out and snarl.</p><p>
  <em>Is this my brother?</em>
</p><p>The Blue Lions seem to be attacking the beast with everything that they have, but they take more damage than they do. The beast attacks widely, hitting as many people as he can by launching a series of knife-like thorns at them all. His fellow classmates are winded by every hit, staggering back on their feet. They can hardly move.</p><p>
  <em>How can I be so useless? How can I let him hurt even more people?</em>
</p><p>Sylvain feels frustration take over his mind as he charges at the beast and strikes it again and again until it focuses on him. The beast blasts a chunk of stone through the air, and it nails him in the chest, knocking him off his horse. His ribs burn and ache, and even breathing hurts, but he forces himself to his feet to continue fighting.</p><p>The professor, with that incomprehensible skill and talent of hers, deals a powerful hit that makes the beast howl in agony. She draws its attention as Mercedes heals Sylvain from a distance. The cool magic washes over his torso, and he can feel his bones snapping back into place.</p><p>Together, with Mercedes working tirelessly to heal her injured classmates and the professor using the Sword of the Creator, the Blue Lions manage to weaken the monster. With one, last strike, Sylvain fells the monster. It screeches, something ear-shatteringly shrill, and stumbles back-and-forth before finally collapsing on the ground in a pile of bones and black and red smoke.</p><p>When the smoke fades, Miklan lies there, dead.</p><p>Silence follows. Sylvain looks down at the body of Miklan.</p><p>Dimitri and Gilbert are talking, but Sylvain can’t bring himself to pay attention to what they’re saying. All he can see is Miklan. For once in his life—for once in his miserable existence, filled with hate and neglect and abuse—Miklan looks… at peace.</p><p>“Miklan,” he whispers, and his voice breaks just a little. “My brother.”</p><p><em>What a terrible way to live, </em>Sylvain thinks as he clenches his eyes shut. He can’t bear to see him. A life ruined and ultimately ended by him; a life forced into the shadows, into exile, into death. <em>What a terrible way to die.</em></p><p>-</p><p>After returning back to Garreg Mach, Dimitri and Ingrid seem determined to try to comfort Sylvain, tailing him and trying to ask him if he’s alright, but he doesn’t want to hear it. How could he listen to such meaningless words when he just watched his brother die a grotesque death?</p><p>He steps into his room, and he shuts and locks his door, letting out a loud sigh.</p><p>It’s over. Miklan is dead—Sylvain still can’t believe it, believe that <em>he’s dead, Miklan’s dead, he’s</em> actually gone—and Sylvain no longer has to put on a brave front, an indifferent front, for his friends. He’s allowed to feel peace, in peace.</p><p>Why doesn’t he feel free? Why isn’t Sylvain utter ecstatic? One of his serial abusers, someone who tried to kill him on multiple occasions, is finally dead, and Sylvain got to finish him off. So why isn’t he happy? Why is he sad? Why is he angry? Why is he so conflicted?</p><p>Shouldn’t he be happy and relieved that Miklan can no longer roam about and terrorize civilians? That he no longer poses a threat to the Gautiers? To himself? Why is he sympathizing with someone so rotten and repugnant? Why is melancholy, and maybe even grief, suffocating him like this?</p><p>“Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain nearly jumps out of his skin. He finds Felix sitting on his bed, but he stands up once Sylvain turns towards him.</p><p>“Felix?” His voice is small, tired, weak. “What are you…”</p><p>Felix takes a few steps towards Sylavin gingerly, as if Sylvain will flee if he gets too close. He stops in front of Sylvain. Sylvain isn’t quite sure of what to say. He’s too tired to think of anything witty to say; he’s too distressed to think of anything other than the fact that he just murdered his own brother.</p><p>“I came to check up on you.” Felix furrows his brows. His cold façade fades, leaving Felix with a sympathetic expression. His eyebrows are furrowed; his eyes are sad; his lips are twisted into a frown. “I… I saw what happened.” His voice is soft, gentle.</p><p><em>What happened to being busy all the time?</em> Sylvain wants to ask. <em>Why do you visit </em>now<em> of all times? Can’t you see I want to be alone right now?</em></p><p>Sylvain tries to muster a smile. “He got what he had coming.”</p><p>“Stop. Don’t act like that.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Like you’re okay.” Felix shakes his head. “Sylvain, it’s okay not to feel okay.”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I be okay? My abusive, atrocious mess of a brother is finally dead.” Sylvain shrugs his academy jacket off and neatly hangs it on his chair. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m fine.”</p><p>Felix visibly bristles at that. “Can you stop lying to me already? It got old years ago.”</p><p><em>You know what got old years ago?</em> Sylvain thinks, hurt. Bitter. He knows it’s probably just his grief, years of pent up feelings, over his brother, but he can’t help himself. <em>You ditching me. And then you only came back to sate your guilty conscience—when I was literally about to die.</em></p><p>There’s a silence. Based on how Felix is staring at him, with wide eyes and clear shock, Sylvain quickly pieces together that he must have voiced his thoughts. Just as Sylvain is about to smile and try to play it off as a joke, Felix speaks.</p><p>"It wasn’t to sate a guilty conscience.” His expression is calm, stern.</p><p>Well, it looks like Sylvain dug his grave; he might as well get in it. He wasn’t expecting to see Felix today, nevertheless <em>argue</em> with him again. “Then what? You’re really going to tell me that we got into a fight and then you disappeared without a single trace—without so much as a single <em>word</em>—just for you come back and say hi?” He can’t keep the venom out of his tone.</p><p>“I… I wanted to come back, but…” Felix averts his gaze. “I didn’t know how.”</p><p>Sylvain narrows his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean? You’ve found me before. You found me today. You know where to find me.”</p><p>“No. I didn’t know how to come back after I upset you like that.” Felix’s gaze hardens. There’s a heavy pause before he continues. “The things I said—they were impulsive and stupid. They really hurt you. I know they did—I saw it.” He squares his shoulders, lifts his head a little to see Sylvain. “And when I realized how stupid I was being, I felt like I couldn't just come back and confront you with some shitty apology. You wouldn't want to see me.”</p><p>Sylvain considers this statement. Had Felix really felt remorse over what he said? “You didn’t even offer me an apology when we first saw each other. After years.”</p><p>Felix shuts his eyes tightly. Sylvain can see some sort of pain in his face. “I tried to, Sylvain. I thought I was ready to. But it didn’t come out right.”</p><p>Sylvain recalls that night. He recalls how Felix’s expression had slowly morphed into one of sadness when he brought up their argument. He recalls how Felix claimed he didn’t want to hear Sylvain’s apology, how he “didn’t care anymore.” Perhaps that was his way of trying to move on from the argument, to start anew with Sylvain.</p><p>But Sylvain still needed to address that argument. He needed closure. He couldn’t simply move on without hearing Felix talk about it.</p><p>“It didn’t come out right,” Felix repeats, looking less sad and more solemn. “So I’ll try again. Now.”</p><p>Sylvain stares, a little surprised.</p><p>His speaking is a little stilted, sheepish, and shaky, but Felix seems genuine as he speaks. “Sylvain, I’m sorry—I blamed you for my shortcomings, and I accused you of being things that you aren’t. You’re not a bad person; you’re not selfish or hypercritical. And I left you behind when I knew you needed me. I abandoned you when you asked me to come back.” Felix pauses. “And I’m sorry.”</p><p>Sylvain stares at Felix, watches as he fidgets uncomfortably.</p><p>“I mean it,” he continues. “I know it might sound like I’m just saying it to make you feel better, and I get it if you don’t really believe me, but I really mean it.” When Sylvain still doesn’t reply, Felix casts his gaze to the ground and adds, in a quieter voice, “It didn’t feel right without you around.”</p><p><em>I missed you</em>—a phrase unsaid but one that Sylvain can recognize in Felix’s sheepish words, in his shy movements, in the slight embarrassed tint to his cheeks.</p><p>“Well,” Sylvain finally says, drawing Felix’s attention, “I won’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt when you said all that stuff and left me here to rot, but we can put it past us.” Sylvain smiles a little. “I mean, it’s not like I’m entirely guiltless, right? I said some things too.”</p><p>“What you said could hardly be considered bad.” Felix lets out a small sigh—in exasperation or in relief? “I’ve heard worse.”</p><p>Sylvain shrugs. “At this point, so have I.” His smile still stays on his face. “But I can get over it.” He allows a small pause. “At least you’re here to stay now, right?” Cautiously, casually. But Sylvain still feels hope rise in his chest in anticipation.</p><p>“I can’t promise that I can be around as much as I did when I was younger,” Felix says slowly, “but I’ll come by more.” Felix pauses a little, and with the same caution, the same nonchalance, he adds, “I can spare some time for a friend.”</p><p>A friend. Sylvain smiles brighter. He wasn’t expecting for Felix to say that they were friends again, so quickly, but he’s happy to hear it nonetheless.</p><p>Felix offers him a small smile, a brief flash of joy and relief, before a dour look takes over his face again. “Sylvain, about Miklan…”</p><p>And like that, Sylvain’s lighthearted mood drops and his smile fades.</p><p>“What about him?” Sylvain asks.</p><p>Felix hesitates. His eyes flit from a spot on the wall behind Sylvain back to his face. It takes Sylvain a second to realize what he’s staring at—the wooden cat charm that Felix had given him for his birthday. Sylvain wonders why he was staring at that. “Are you okay?” he asks. His eyes scan over Sylvain.</p><p>Before Sylvain can respond with his typical dismissal, with a diversion, he notes Felix’s expression. He doesn’t seem annoyed like he usually does when Sylvain lies to him; rather, he looks concerned, sad. And something about seeing Felix like that wrenches the truth from Sylvain’s mouth.</p><p>"I don’t know.”</p><p>“You don’t know,” Felix echoes. He isn’t judgmental. He doesn’t ridicule him. Instead, he patiently waits for Sylvain to elaborate.</p><p>“He was a terrible person,” Sylvain finds himself saying. “He’d beat me and say awful things. He tried to kill me.” He waits for Felix to interject with something along the lines of <em>I know</em>, but Felix remains silent. “And even when my father sent him away, he didn’t stop terrorizing people. He’s probably stolen a bunch of stuff, abducted a bunch of girls, killed a bunch of people.” Sylvain shuts his eyes and sighs before he continues. “I hate him. I really do.”</p><p>Felix steps forward and puts a hand, warm and calloused, on Sylvain’s arm, a silent gesture that speaks to him. <em>I'm here</em>, Felix is saying. Felix gives Sylvain a sympathetic look.</p><p>“But I feel a little bad.” Sylvain shakes his head with a bitter smile. “He was my brother. And I watched him turn into this, this <em>beast</em> and then—then, I-I killed him. I killed my brother.” Sylvain’s voice wavers. Speaking aloud what he’d done, like an admission of his crime, feels dirty, feels wrong. And deep inside, he’s almost waiting for someone to punish him—but he has trust that Felix won’t hurt him.</p><p>“But you know.” Sylvain clenches a fist. “He’s right. If I were never born, he would be happy.”</p><p>“No, he wouldn’t.” Felix’s reply is almost immediate. “Don’t say that. You know how your parents are. Even if <em>you</em> specifically weren’t born, whoever took your place would have the same burden.” His gaze turns hard. “And I don’t think your father would have loved him, even if he were an only child.”</p><p>Sylvain shakes his head. “He wouldn’t have,” Sylvain agrees, “but I still feel bad for him. He’s always been an outcast, and no one ever cared for him.” Sylvain pulls his arm from Felix and drags his hands over his face. “I just feel that…” Sylvain shakes his head again. “I don’t know,” he concedes. “I’m a mess.” He smiles sheepishly.</p><p>“It’s okay to feel this way,” Felix tells him. “It’s okay to have mixed feelings. Not everything in life is black-and-white—and that applies to your emotions on him.” Felix averts his gaze. “You can be sad. You can be mad. You can be happy that he’s gone. Just stay safe and here.”</p><p>Sylvain feels his face heat up, his eyes stinging with tears. He won’t cry, not over Miklan.</p><p>“Fe?” Sylvain’s voice is small. He feel years and years younger, like when he’d curl up in bed alone and cry after a beating. He feels like when there was nobody there for him except for Felix, when he would spend time telling Felix what he could of his life without being “annoying” or too graphic. He feels naïve and needy—but maybe it’s not that bad right now.</p><p>Felix lifts his head. <em>I’m listening</em>, his body posture reads. <em>I’m listening, and I’m here for you.</em></p><p>“Could I hug you?” he rasps out, just barely audible. “Would you mind?”</p><p>Felix doesn’t hesitate even a second, taking a few steps and leaning into Sylvain’s tight embrace. Felix wraps his arms around Sylvain and holds him as Sylvain feels waves of grief and anguish and sorrow wash over him, hitting mercilessly like the ocean against a rocky coastline.</p><p>Felix is grounding. Felix is shorter than Sylvain, but he is lithe and feels firm, a reminder that Felix is real and that he is there. He is warm, like a holy light is emanating off him. His wings are large and fluffy as they gently wrap around him and Sylvain, as if to shield them both from the harsh and judgmental eyes of the world.</p><p>And for as long as Felix holds him, Sylvain feels safe. He feels strong. He feels okay.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. discovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain starts to have some... interesting thoughts about his friend.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the long chapter, the long wait, and the inconsistent writing style! I just want to fit a lot of stuff here. Hopefully, it doesn't seem all that rushed. </p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Horsebow Moon starts with a bang, one that shakes all the students and staff at Garreg Mach right down to their core.</p><p>A student has gone missing—and not just any student. Flayn, ever under the watchful eye of her older brother Seteth, has disappeared from the monastery grounds without a word. If Flayn, innocent and friendly Flayn, can disappear from the earth, from Seteth’s supervision, there’s no telling what happened to her and what could happen to others on the monastery.</p><p>And even worse, rumors of a scythed knight, the symbol for death, have dispersed and are circulating like mad, leaving the everyone restless. Younger students find themselves sleepless, wondering if they’ll be the next victim. Older students keep a wary eye out for their peers—and on their peers, unsure of who to trust. The halls are haunted by whispered accusations, pointed fingers, narrowed eyes.</p><p>At Lady Rhea’s request, the Blue Lions are sent to rescue Flayn. The Blue Lions have scattered all about the monastery, looking for clues and asking around.</p><p>This includes Sylvain, who has barely had time to pull himself together after Miklan’s death. He compartmentalizes his thoughts and emotions, throwing on his flirty smile and his failproof façade. How can he be so selfish and think of his own emotions when Flayn has gone missing and his fellow students are thrown into a frenzy like this? He needs to be steadfast, selfless.</p><p>His own attempts to find Flayn yield nothing but a sharp blow upside the head from Ingrid. Professor Byleth, having caught Sylvain rubbing the back of his head, only raises an eyebrow at him when she hears his explanation. She simply shakes her head at him and walks away.</p><p>When he returns to his room after a chaotic day of classes, training, and investigations, he heaves out a long sigh, leaning against the door as he shuts it. He pulls off his jacket and hangs it up on his coatrack; he toes out of his boots and flops onto his bed face-first.</p><p>Another sigh wracks his body when he thinks about how tired he is from putting up a front all day. He relaxes into his sheets a little and desperately ignores the thoughts of Miklan that are starting to surface now that he’s alone.</p><p>“Hey. Are you just going to ignore me?”</p><p>Sylvain jolts and lets out a little yelp of surprise, his head whipping up. He finds Felix sitting on his desk’s chair in the corner of his room, just out of the immediate view of the doorway. In his robed lap lies a whetstone; in his calloused hand lies a sword.</p><p>“Felix! How long have you been there?”</p><p>“Not long.” Felix sets the whetstone on the ground and carefully tucks his sword back into the sheath attached to his leather belt.</p><p>“Why are you here?” Sylvain pauses as he thinks. Well, if his recent experiences are anything to go off of, Felix only ever seems to show up in times of extreme distress. At this realization, Sylvain’s eyes go wide and dart around the room. “Am I in danger or something?” he asks, voice a little hushed. It would explain why Felix was working with his sword.</p><p>“No.” Felix crosses his arms. “Calm down. Nothing’s wrong.”</p><p>“Then?” Sylvain raises an eyebrow.</p><p>Felix lets out a sigh and fixes him with a flat look. “Look, I’m just here, Sylvain. What of it?”</p><p>Sylvain relaxes a touch. “Well, when you’re around, something’s always kind of catastrophically bad. Like when you saved me from falling off that bridge and that one battle—oh, and the whole thing with Miklan.” Sylvain lists these occurrences on his fingers.</p><p>Felix gives a grunt. “Nothing’s catastrophically wrong. Like I said, I’m just here.”</p><p>“Huh. Okay then.” Sylvain gives a shrug. “Make yourself at home.” He yawns, stretching out his body, and he relaxes against his bed, shutting his eyes. “I’m absolutely spent. It was all hot out today, and I had to train in this weather. It was awful.”</p><p>Just thinking about the hot weather is enough to make Sylvain start sweating. It’s not quite summer anymore, but it’s also not autumn yet, leaving Garreg Mach in a terrible state of weather purgatory, where the sun is still unbearable at its peak in the sky. During training, he had hid in the shadows, asking Ingrid to spar with him in the corner. Ingrid rolled her eyes at him, but she joined him. After all, she’s from Faerghus too.</p><p>“Quit your bellyaching. There’s certainly worse.”</p><p>Sylvain huffs. “Come on, Felix. Don’t be such a pessimist.”</p><p>“Like you’re not?”</p><p>Sylvain sits up and purses his lips sheepishly. He finds Felix watching him, expression stern but his eyes lit up in subtle amusement. At Sylvain’s sheepish expression, Felix’s lips just barely quirk up in a small smirk.</p><p>“Hmph. That’s what I thought.” Triumph tints his tone.</p><p>“Alright, I wouldn’t say I’m a pessimist; I’d say I’m more of a realist, but I’ll let you have that.” Sylvain smiles. “And I guess that it’s not that bad.” Felix gives him a lazy shrug, and the room starts to slowly retreat back into its typical silence. He reflects on his day, trying to think of something to say. “You know, there’s a girl who went missing.” His good mood disappears.</p><p>Felix furrows his eyebrows. “Missing?”</p><p>“Yeah. We’re looking for her.” He waits a beat before asking, “I don’t suppose you know anything about this?”</p><p>Felix shakes his head. For some reason, Sylvain’s eyes are drawn to the way that Felix’s long hair ripples a little from the small movement, how the dark strands catch the light and seem to pass it down. “Why would you ask me?”</p><p>Sylvain shrugs. “You seem like you know a lot.”</p><p>“Just because I’m an angel doesn’t mean I’m omniscient.”</p><p>“I guess.” <em>But then why do you know when I’m in trouble? </em>Sylvain wonders. Neither of them seem very knowledgeable on the topic, leaving nothing to say. Sylvain lets the conversation naturally flow to a stop before asking, “Hey, Felix? Aren’t you, like, busy all the time, every day?”</p><p>Felix raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”</p><p>“Then why are you here? Shouldn’t you be getting to whatever it is you do?”</p><p>“Are you that eager to get rid of me?”</p><p>Sylvain frowns. “No, not at all. Just curious.”</p><p>Felix lets out a small sigh and crosses his arms. He lets a lull in the conversation settle before answering. “I <em>am</em> busy, but I’m doing something right now.” At Sylvain’s confused expression, Felix frowns. “I’m busy,” he elaborates, “because I’m keeping an eye on you.”</p><p>Sylvain blinks. Then he laughs. “Keeping an eye on me? You don’t have to do that. Ingrid already does that.” <em>This is probably about Miklan</em>. Sylvain grimaces internally at the thought. <em>You don’t need help. You need to get through this yourself.</em> “Besides, I’m sure you have more important things to get to.”</p><p>Felix stares at Sylvain, his expression flat. “Sylvain. How long have I known you?”</p><p>“We met when I was, like, five? Six?” He scrunches his eyebrows together in thought. “Or maybe I was seven? Why?”</p><p>“Six. You were six.”</p><p>Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure. I was six. Why?”</p><p>Felix rubs his temples with his thumb and his middle finger. “You would think that after thirteen years, you’d understand the concept of a guardian angel.” He mutters this, but it’s clearly meant to be heard by Sylvain. “Sylvain, my purpose is to watch over you and protect you. So there isn’t anything more important.” He pauses. “Well, training is pretty important too.”</p><p>That takes Sylvain by surprise. He knew pretty loosely that Felix was his guardian angel. Felix had never outright stated it, but Sylvain grew up thinking that Felix was someone to rely on, someone who would help him when something terrible happened. He supposed that he never really put much thought to <em>why</em>.</p><p>Being called important—being labeled as something worth protecting—makes Sylvain feel a little funny. He feels <em>cared </em>for. It’s not like when his father or the girls at the monastery call him important, superficial and based around his status or his Crest. It feels pretty fair to assume that Felix isn’t looking after his bloodline or his Crest.</p><p>Being cared about feels strange. Almost entirely unfamiliar. It leaves Sylvain warm, his skin heating up and his heart feeling full and jittery.</p><p>Sylvain wants to say something back, wants to tell Felix that he’s important and worth protecting too. He wants to tell Felix how grateful he is whenever he comes and helps him, wants to implore him to stay and hang out more.</p><p>But Sylvain can only manage to make a weak joke and laugh nervously. “More important than me? Ouch, Fe. That hurts.”</p><p>Felix rolls his eyes. “Just for saying that—now it is.”</p><p>Sylvain just laughs, but he doesn’t miss the way that Felix’s posture relaxes, the way that his eyes crinkle up in amusement, the way that a tiny smile tugs at his lips.</p><p>-</p><p>Felix and Sylvain end up chatting for a little longer about passing topics—Sylvain’s studies, Felix’s improving skill in reason and healing magic, the animals around the monastery—before Felix decides to leave.</p><p>Sylvain bids Felix farewell with ease, with a pretty smile and a wave, but he isn’t prepared at all for the way that his room feels so empty and silent without Felix. He almost feels like a stranger in his own room, sitting atop his bed and looking at the space that Felix was once at before he disappeared.</p><p>Nonetheless, Sylvain manages to breeze through his homework, get washed up and prepared for bed, and settle under his covers. Though Miklan’s death once hung over him like the blade of a guillotine, waiting to drop when he’s alone at night, Sylvain finds himself thinking less about his bastard brother and thinking more about his conversation with Felix.</p><p>Getting to see his childhood friend in a non-life-or-death situation makes him happy. He didn’t mind having to put his life in danger to see Felix, but getting that close to death and having to get chewed out by both Felix <em>and</em> Ingrid doesn’t sound very appealing, especially considering the sad looks that they’d be giving him.</p><p>If Felix was willing to simply stop by today, then perhaps there’s a chance that he’ll come more often without having Sylvain sustain some kind of bodily or emotional trauma.</p><p>Hope fills Sylvain’s chest, slowly, in little bits like the first drops of rain before a storm. Before Sylvain knows it, he’s filled with hope, feeling warm and positive about Felix’s speedy return as he slowly drifts to sleep. He fall asleep wondering what things he could talk with Felix about next.</p><p>To Sylvain’s surprise, Felix is there in his room again the next day—and the day after that, and the day after that. Felix practically drops by every day, just after Sylvain finishes his duties and returns to his room.</p><p>Felix visits usually after Sylvain has finished his training and classes and after he had eaten dinner. Sylvain never sees him during any other time of day—not during the day, the afternoon, midnight, or dawn. Felix always visits from dusk to night, and he always leaves Sylvain saying that he should get ready for the next day.</p><p>Felix takes the stress of class, of Flayn’s disappearance, of Miklan, all away. His presence is calming, and even if his words are barbed and his looks are scathing, Sylvain knows deep beneath the layers, there’s a softer meaning—there’s a softer meaning to his words, to his looks, to <em>him</em>.</p><p>Their conversations are often light and sometimes accompanied by Sylvain’s chess board, the one gifted to him by Professor Byleth. Felix almost never wins, but his reaction to getting beat is still entertaining—a huff and a frustrated roll of his eyes, though he does concede his loss without argument.</p><p>By the end of the Horsebow Moon, after the Blue Lions have discovered where Flayn—and Monica, that student who had gone missing the year prior—have been taken to and rescued them, Sylvain finds that he and Felix have become a little more comfortable with one another. Sylvain has practically designated that corner of his room to Felix. It’s not much—a chair with a neat stack of books beside it and a whetstone on the books so that Felix doesn’t have to carry one to and from Sylvain’s room all the time.</p><p>As the Wyvern Moon arrives, bringing with it crisp, autumn air, Sylvain feels like a burden has been lifted off of his shoulders. Lady Rhea hasn’t mentioned any sort of serious mission, and the only thing at the end of the month is the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, leaving the monastery buzzing with boasts and excitement.</p><p>Felix seems pretty interested in the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, as it turns out. Sylvain feels like he should have seen this coming, given Felix’s obsession with training.</p><p>“You should care more about this,” Felix replies after Sylvain had explained the tradition to him. “It’s an incentive to train; it’s a way to test your skill.”</p><p>Sylvain shrugs. “I guess I should care more about it.” <em>But I don’t</em>, he wants to say. “It’ll get ladies to look at me if I win.” Sylvain grins. “Ladies love a winner, you know.”</p><p>Sylvain had noticed that Felix doesn’t particularly care for when he speaks about women. Felix’s annoyance borders on disgust, just like how Ingrid reacts, but there’s something different about it. Sylvain can’t properly put his finger on it, but he knows it’s <em>different. </em>He’s made it a point to try and subtly bring up his flirting to observe Felix’s reaction—to see the way that he fumbles and tries to change the subject, to study the way that Felix’s expression goes cold.</p><p>Felix gives an exasperated groan. “You and your—your <em>philandering</em>.” He shakes his head. “If I were a student here, I would be eager to find someone worthy to cross swords with—a proper test of strength.”</p><p>As Sylvain expected, Felix gives one cutting remark about flirting and tries to switch the subject. Expected, but interesting nonetheless.</p><p>Sylvain cocks his head and looks Felix over. His eyes linger over Felix’s pale and unlined face, free of blemishes and wrinkles; he looks at Felix’s warm eyes, lively and intense; his gaze follows Felix’s long hair, tied in a low ponytail.</p><p>“What?” Felix huffs.</p><p>“You know, you look like you could be a student here,” he says after a small pause. “You look around my age. If we hid your wings and covered your halo with something, like a helmet or a hat, you could definitely be a student.” A foxlike grin pulls his lips up. “If you <em>really</em> wanted to be in the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, you might be able to sneak in.”</p><p>Felix pauses, as if he’s truly considering Sylvain’s joke as a realistic option, but in the end, he shakes his head. “Don’t be daft. I’m not going to hide my identity and risk being seen by other humans.”</p><p>“What’s so bad about being seen?”</p><p>“Guardian angels are not to be seen by any human with the exception of their wards.” Felix recites the words carefully but quickly, clearly having memorized them. “Dressing like a student and wandering about in broad daylight is just a disaster waiting to happen.”</p><p>"Why’s that?”</p><p>“It’s just a rule. Humans are unpredictable, and we don’t know how they’ll react, especially given that not everyone has a guardian angel.” Felix gives a half-hearted shrug, clearly uninterested in this topic. It must be something he’s discussed a lot. He looks tired of this. Are these his words then? Or are they something that’s been told to him? Sylvain’s leaning towards the latter.</p><p>“Wait. Not everyone has a guardian angel?” Sylvain frowns. “Then why do I have one? What are the grounds for someone not getting a guardian angel?”</p><p>Sylvain thinks about Miklan. Did he have a guardian angel? No, that’s extremely unlikely. Well, what would his life have been like with one? Would Miklan have stayed out of trouble? Would he have been safe from their father? Would he be alive right now? And how would that final battle have worked with Felix trying to protect Sylvain?</p><p>Felix shrugs again and crosses his arms. “Why would I know? Ask the Goddess.”</p><p>Sylvain feels like Felix isn’t being entirely honest, but Felix looks steadfast in keeping his mouth shut so Sylvain changes the subject.</p><p>With every day that the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion draws closer, Professor Byleth increases and intensifies the Blue Lions’ training. She seems set on winning, pushing the students to fight just a little harder. Sylvain knows that he’s getting better and stronger, especially given how his body aches after his workouts, but he wonders if all this training just to win a friendly competition between houses is really worth it.</p><p>“If you’d give your training even a <em>quarter</em> of the attention you give to women, you’d be stronger,” Felix scolds him. “Your body wouldn’t hurt as much because you’d be stronger. You would be working on more advanced techniques.”</p><p>Sylvain, sprawled out across his bed, pulls himself up and scowls at Felix. “I’m doing what I can, Fe.”</p><p>“I have my doubts.” Felix crosses his arms.</p><p>“Yeah? How would you know how strong I am? You’ve never fought me.”</p><p>“No, but I’ve seen you fight.”</p><p>“It’s not the same.” In that moment, a thought pops into Sylvain’s head. He grins. “Then how about you and I spar? Right now?”</p><p>Felix raises an eyebrow. “What, in here?" His gaze wanders around the room, from one corner to the next. "Are you really that idiotic? There’s nowhere near enough space for that.”</p><p>“No. The training hall. It’s way past curfew at this point so there really shouldn’t be anyone in there.” Sylvain is already pulling his uniform jacket on. “I think you'll be fine. Come on.”</p><p>Felix gives a small huff of amusement but makes no attempt at protesting. Perhaps it’s something that he wants too. “There isn't a guarantee that I won't be seen," he claims, but he waits a beat before continuing, "but this <em>is</em> for the sake of your training." He hums noncommittally. "Never thought I’d hear you being so enthusiastic about sparring.”</p><p>“Me either.” Sylvain opens up his dorm room and peeks outside, listening intently. He doesn’t see anyone in the hallways of the dorms, and he doesn’t hear anyone. It’d probably be safe to bring Felix to the training hall. "So are you coming then? Or do you think it's too risky?"</p><p>Felix pushes past him. "Hurry up. The faster we get there, the less of a chance there is for someone to see us passing by." It draws a smile onto Sylvain's face.</p><p>Sylvain isn’t particularly ecstatic about the idea of training his already sore body, but he thinks that it’ll be fun. He’s never really seen Felix fight beyond when they’d spar as children. He admits that he’s a little curious—how do angels fight? How do they move on the battlefield? Are they just as graceful, lithe, swift as they are when they are idle?</p><p>As ashamed as Sylvain is to admit it, his thoughts have been drifting more and more towards Felix recently.</p><p>They are less like when he was waiting for Felix to visit—they’re less hopeful and sorrowful. Instead, Sylvain’s thoughts are more observant now, more lingering. He thinks of Felix’s long lashes, warmly lit by the oil lamp in his room. He thinks of Felix’s long hair, swaying lightly behind him whenever he moves, often tied in a ponytail. He thinks of Felix’s graceful movements, his lithe body, his swift comebacks.</p><p>Felix haunts his thoughts, and Sylvain doesn’t know why. </p><p>Sylvain and Felix quietly sneak past the other students’ dorm rooms, tread lightly down the rickety wooden stairs, and hurry to the training hall. Felix keeps an eye out for others while Sylvain leads the way.</p><p>When they finally reach the training hall and push past the heavy wooden doors, Felix looks around. Sylvain shuts the door behind them and makes his way towards the center, where the light of the full moon gently pours in through the wide, rectangular opening at the top of the training grounds. Felix stands there too, looking up at the dark night sky.</p><p>The moonlight makes Felix glow, makes him even more radiant than when he’s being lit up by Sylvain’s shoddy oil lamp. His pure white robes glint and glimmer; his white wings in the moonlight look feathery and soft. The light gets caught on his dark lashes like snowflakes, framing his warm eyes nicely. His halo showers the top of his head with a golden light.</p><p>Felix looks ethereal. He looks like a fallen star, a gleam of silver and gold, pensively gazing up at the night sky where he belongs.</p><p>“Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain startles a little at the sound of Felix. “Huh?”</p><p>“I thought we were going to spar.” Felix turns his gaze to Sylvain, resting a hand on his hip.</p><p>Is that why Sylvain brought Felix out here? He feels like he’d be more than content to simply sit here and gaze up at the night sky. And Felix.</p><p>Wait, what is he thinking? Are these kinds of thoughts okay? Sylvain really needs to stop thinking like this. He doesn’t want to be weird or anything towards Felix. Plus, he already knows his fate is sealed. His father will pick him a some bride with a lot of money and a major Crest, and he’ll be married off, a pawn to his Crest.</p><p>Not that he’s thinking of marrying Felix, of course. Can you even marry an angel? How does that even work? <em>Does</em> that even work?</p><p>“<em>Sylvain.</em>” Felix gives a frustrated sigh. "You're wasting our time."</p><p>“Sorry, sorry.”</p><p>Sylvain smiles at him and moves to grab a training lance. He briefly weighs it in his hands, tests it, and then brings it towards the center of the training grounds. Felix holds a training sword in his hands.</p><p>Felix takes an offensive stance. “I won’t hold back so you better not either.”</p><p>“I won’t.” Sylvain readies himself.</p><p>Felix moves like nothing that Sylvain’s ever seen. He’s quick, quick, quick. The fact that his robes are big and flowy and that his wings trail behind him, leaving little feathers doesn’t quite help. They distract him and divert his attention from Felix.</p><p>Felix hits hard too, which leaves Sylvain taking a defensive stance more often than not. In the rare occasion that he tries to strike, he finds that Felix dodges with ease.</p><p>“This isn’t fair,” Sylvain huffs. “You can literally fly.”</p><p>“I’m not flying. Don’t make excuses.” Felix swings his sword, and Sylvain narrowly blocks it with his lance. “Besides, you’ve had to fight enemies who fly before.” Felix swings again and again and again, punctuating his words with a swing, “Pegasus knights, wyvern riders, beasts.”</p><p>The clattering of the training sword against his lance is making Sylvain’s hands go numb. Sylvain grimaces as his grip starts to slip.</p><p>“This is why you need more training,” Felix scolds. “If this were a real battle—” Felix swats the lance aside and sweeps Sylvain’s legs out from underneath him. Sylvain lands on his back, the impact knocking the air out of his chest and leaving him dizzy, and Felix places the tip of the training sword at Sylvain’s throat, just barely tilting his chin up. He leans in close so that he and Sylvain are eye-to-eye, his hair cascading forward. “—you’d have died five minutes ago.”</p><p>Sylvain blinks owlishly. He looks at the blade pointed at him and then back up at Felix. His thoughts are a little hazy, his face slowly growing hot. He gulps a little nervously.</p><p><em>What's going on?</em> Sylvain thinks frantically. <em>I feel feverish. Am I okay?</em></p><p>Felix removes the sword from Sylvain’s throat and sighs, brushing his hair back. “I thought you’d put up more of a challenge.” He gives Sylvain a pointed look. “Train harder. You can die whenever you please, but I'm not going down with you."</p><p>Sylvain props himself up on his elbows as he catches his breath. He's starting to feel fine now. He wonders what happened.</p><p>“To be fair, I am pretty tired from training all day.” He smiles. “But I could go for another round.” Felix frowns at him, and Sylvain laughs. “No, I’ll be serious this time. This was just a warm-up. Plus, I’m learning how you fight.”</p><p>Felix looks Sylvain over, his gaze analyzing and slow. There’s something in his gaze that Sylvain can’t entirely recognize. It’s something he desperately wants to understand. He looks <em>hungry,</em> but he can’t fathom why Felix would be looking at him like that.</p><p>“Fine. Get up.”</p><p>-</p><p>The Blue Lions end up winning the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, marking the end of the Wyvern Moon. By the end of the battle, Sylvain is caked in his own sweat, covered in streaks of dirt and a few injuries from his peers’ attacks—but he feels weightless, ecstatic. The victory had been largely brought along with his contribution, which he can only attribute to Felix’s help in training.</p><p>The victory is celebrated by all the houses in good sportsmanship. The celebratory feast is fun, and the food is alright—it’s just the regular dining hall food after all, nothing bad nor nothing special. And after, Sylvain is sure to tell Felix all about how his training paid off, even though he knows he’s going to get Felix’s smug, “See? Training <em>is</em> important,” in response.</p><p>Yet, the good mood doesn’t seem to last long after.</p><p>The Red Wolf Moon slinks in with its fangs bared in the form of an infectious disease plaguing the people of Remire Village. Though the Blue Lions are prepared to try and investigate the issue, they aren’t prepared to see villagers screaming in terror, buildings set ablaze as the infected, sickly and grey, stumble about and laugh maniacally as they attempt to slay their fellow villagers.</p><p>It’s a grim battle. They rescue as many villagers as they can, helping them avoid the rising flames and the blood-thirsty hands of their neighbors, but it’s grim nonetheless.</p><p>Rampaging villagers do not hesitate to attack each other, their loved ones, their community—and they don’t hesitate to raise their weapons up against the Blue Lions, screaming and laughing, “Kill! Kill!” The Blue Lions are forced to retaliate, to protect themselves and each other, to fight back even when a few villagers cry out in despair—<em>stop! that’s my mother! please, don’t!</em></p><p>But it’s not enough. Tomas the librarian—no, <em>Solon</em>—slays the rest of the villagers without a second thought and sends his own army after the Blue Lions, only to make a swift getaway before anyone can capture him.</p><p>In the wake of the battle, of the Remire Calamity, it seems that things are simply thrown into disorder. Tomas the librarian was revealed to be Solon, a pale mage with little regard for others. The ever-elusive Flame Emperor had appeared before Professor Byleth and attempted to recruit her. And all signs point to some kind of organization aimed towards destroying the peace of Fodlan.</p><p>It’s a chilling thought. It leaves everyone wary, confused, concerned. But Lady Rhea remains levelheaded and pacifies her worried students and staff with her confidence, her prayers, and her promise that no harm will befall Fodlan under the Goddess’s protection.</p><p>Fear slowly but surely starts to ebb out of the hearts of most students, though Sylvain keeps his wits about him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Ethereal Moon brings out hope in students of Garreg Mach, including Sylvain.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Ethereal Moon is one of the most popular months amongst students, and it does well in distracting many from the threat of Solon and whoever he works with, though Sylvain still finds himself thinking about it.</p><p>Even so, he tries to remain as optimistic as his classmates. Besides, he’s still genuinely excited for the Garreg Mach Establishment Day ball and the White Heron Cup. He’s even more excited because Felix has no idea about the traditions and events at Garreg Mach so Sylvain can tell him all about them.</p><p>“Like I said before,” Sylvain tells him with a grin, “you should disguise your wings and your halo for a night, dress like a student, and come to the dance. It’ll be great fun!” Sylvain grins. “I can lend you a spare outfit for the ball, and I can even introduce you to some of my lady friends.” Sylvain subtly keeps an eye on Felix, waiting for a reaction while he digs through his wardrobe. “Your wings are pretty big, and you’re shorter than I am but if we can tape down your wings, just for a little bit—”</p><p>Felix sighs, audibly exasperated. “Sylvain, I don’t care about going to some stuffy school dance, especially one for a school I don’t personally attend. What, do you think I’m interested in watching you and your peers awkwardly fumble around and step on each other’s toes?”</p><p>Sylvain laughs. “That’s certainly one part of a school dance, but it’s just something fun. There’ll be good snacks and music, and the girls will look gorgeous.” He pauses. “Well, not that you would even let one see you, but worth a shot, right?”</p><p>“I’d rather spend my time training. I don’t have time for things as trivial as academy-sanctioned gatherings or romance.” Felix makes a face, turning up his nose at the mere idea of attending the dance. “I’m not going, period. You’re free to go and have the time of your life with your stupid harem at the Festival, but don’t expect me to tag along.”</p><p>Needless to say, Felix didn’t particularly care about ball or the White Heron Cup. Sylvain wasn’t expecting him to, but it was still fun to talk about with Felix, even with Felix’s derisive comments regarding Sylvain’s dancing skills.</p><p><em>If you think I’m so bad at dancing, then dance with me now. </em>The words teeter on the tip of his tongue, just a careless mistake away from coming out. <em>I’ll prove that I’m good at dancing. I’ve had my whole childhood to learn these useless ‘noble’ things, you know.</em> But Sylvain manages to keep his thoughts to himself, offering Felix faux-offense and dramatics that makes him scoff and roll his eyes.</p><p>Felix shows a little interest in the rumor regarding the Goddess Tower, but Sylvain chalks that up to him being an angel. If it’s related to the Goddess, Felix probably has to care about it to some degree, right?</p><p>“So," drawls Felix nonchalantly, "who are you meeting up there?”</p><p>Sylvain blinks. “Huh?”</p><p>“You’re excited for about the Goddess Tower. You’re meeting someone there, aren’t you?” Felix doesn’t sound as accusatory as his words seem to let on. He looks genuinely curious.</p><p>Sylvain considers this. There isn’t really anyone he can see himself with at the tower. He isn’t sure if he’s all that excited about the Goddess Tower, but it feels like a special occasion that he shouldn’t miss.</p><p>He smiles at Felix. “Why are you so curious? I thought you didn’t care about things like this?”</p><p>Felix rolls his eyes. “I don’t care,” he insists.”</p><p>“Then?”</p><p>“I’m just asking.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Felix bristles with an indignant huff. His wings fluff up a little, kind of similar to the way that a cat’s fur stands up when it hisses. “I was just trying to make conversation, but I see that it’s clearly not worth the effort anymore.” He huffs again. "Honestly, I don't know why I bother with you sometimes."</p><p>"Because it's literally your job?" Sylvain laughs. “Anyway, I’m just messing with you. I know that you don’t care.”</p><p><em>You clearly do care,</em> Sylvain is thinking as he moves onto a new topic, <em>even if it's just a little. B</em><em>ut why?</em></p><p>-</p><p>As the White Heron Cup draws closer and closer with every day, every hour, every minute, the Blue Lions bustle with nervous energy.</p><p>Professor Byleth still had yet to pick a candidate to represent their house. While Annette and Mercedes talk about how fun and excited they would be to be their class’s representative, Dimitri and Ingrid pointedly try not to make any eye contact with the professor in hopes that it’ll help them disappear from Byleth’s pool of candidates. It’s pretty entertaining watching Ingrid and Dimitri awkwardly making up excuses so that they can flee whenever they spot her nearby.</p><p>Sylvain knows that people are expecting him to be at Professor Byleth’s feet, begging for a chance to show off his dance moves, but truly, he’s in the same boat as Dimitri and Ingrid.</p><p>He would really rather not be in front of the crowd, showing off. It’s just not <em>him</em>, especially considering that he’s practically spent his entire damn life trying to blend in and give people less of a reason to hate him—like how he constantly keeps his grades in a certain range as to not draw the praise of his professor and the ire of his peers who worked twice as hard and still scored lower than him.</p><p>Not to mention that there are definitely better candidates—more skilled, more attractive, more charming—who could better represent the Blue Lions. Why send out the no-good heartbreaker to represent the Blue Lions?</p><p>But if Professor Byleth approached him and asked him to, his fate would be sealed. He wouldn’t have a good enough excuse to decline and weasel his way out of it; and she would expect him to accept with all the self-righteousness of Lorenz and all the enthusiasm of Ferdinand von Aegir.</p><p>He can practically hear himself trying to feign surety. “Me?” he would say, trying to mask his shock and dismay. “Uh, sure! Why not? I’ll get out there, show off my moves, and drive the ladies wild.” He’d plaster on a confident smirk just to really push the point that he’s excited about the opportunity, the one that works on just about everyone, and Professor Byleth would smile back at him, nod, and leave as she usually does.</p><p>Lucky for him—and Ingrid and Dimitri who both share looks of relief at the announcement—Professor Byleth asks Annette to be the house representative. Annette jumps up to the challenge with a twinkle in her eye, happily promising that she’ll do her best.</p><p>Annette, who had competed against Dorothea and Hilda, ends up winning the White Heron Cup the night before the ball. Invigorated with their victory, the Blue Lions roar with applause, loud enough to make the walls feel like they’re trembling.</p><p>After the White Heron Cup is officially over, students mix and mingle, chatting with their friends from other classes before the professors call curfew. Sylvain slips away from the reception hall.</p><p>He wouldn’t mind chatting with some ladies or friends, but the White Heron Cup really tired him out. Plus, he’s pretty sure that he has someone special waiting for him back at his dorm room.</p><p>Yet, out of the corner of his eye, he sees his fellow Blue Lions sneaking into the classroom, followed by Professor Byleth. It’s so late in the evening; why are his friends gathering there? Sylvain finds himself wandering in as well, his arms tucked behind his head.</p><p>Dimitri lets out a small sigh. “This is the only ball of the year, and I see why. Everyone is absurdly excited…” Dimitri practically looks pale at the thought of having such rowdy peers year-round. Or maybe he simply detests the idea of having to attend so many dances.</p><p>“Your Highness, you sound so detached.” Dedue furrows his brows. “We are all encouraged to enjoy the ball tomorrow.”</p><p>“Right you are. What a burden.” Dimitri lets out another sigh.</p><p>Sylvain, in his attempt to lighten the mood and cheer his friend up, cuts in. “Your Highness! You must be joking, right? This is our chance to dance with all of the ladies of the academy to our heart’s content!” Sylvain can practically <em>feel</em> Felix rolling his eyes from wherever he is right now. “You wish to throw away the best day of the whole year for <em>sword practice?”</em> Sylvain shakes his head. “Insanity, I tell you!”</p><p>It does pretty well. Ashe latches onto Sylvain’s enthusiasm for the ball.</p><p>“I’m pretty excited about the ball myself. It’s not like we get to do things like this very often.” Ashe smiles as Annette and Mercedes nod along in agreement.</p><p>“Too true, Ashe. In fact, I’m gonna do you a favor and give you a crash course in chatting up girls. By tomorrow, you’ll be an expert!” Sylvain winks at Ashe, whose smile turn sheepish.</p><p>“Actually, I’d much prefer if someone could just teach us how to dance…”</p><p>“Don’t worry about the dancing part. I can teach you that, easy!” Annette beams.</p><p>“You did just win the White Heron Cup so I’d trust you.” Ingrid’s comment is met with agreement from the other Lion. Annette flushes a little, but she wears a grand smile.</p><p>“It’s time for the ball! That warrants at least a tiny bit of makeup, don’t you think, Ingrid?” Mercedes turns to Ingrid with a small smile. “Just a smidge?”</p><p>“I… Hmm.” Ingrid visibly grimaces. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”</p><p>“It’s settled! Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet up in Ingrid’s room!” Annette claps her hands in delight and bounces up on the tips on her feet. “Ooh, I can’t wait!”</p><p>Dimitri chuckles. “You know, there’s no telling where lie will take us after we leave here. If only we could find a way to come together again, just like this…” His gaze turns a little sad as he trails off.</p><p>Sylvain supposes that he understands. Though he hasn’t been at Garreg Mach for all that long, he knows that he’s made some nice friends here. The Blue Lions feels a lot less like a class and more like a family—the family he’s never truly had. They care for him, smile with him, cry with him. They don’t hurt him or expect all that much from him other than his genuine friendship and his skills on the battlefield.</p><p>Sylvain can’t imagine life without his friends here.</p><p>“A fine notion, Your Highness.” Dedue nods, a small smile on his face. “Perhaps five years from now?”</p><p>“Five years from now?” Dimitri frowns a little, scrunching his eyebrows together in thought before he brightens. “Ah! That’s when Garreg Mach Monastery will be holding the millennium festival!” Dedue nods at him.</p><p>“By then, we’ll be addressing Your Highness as Your Majesty instead!”</p><p>That’s such an odd thought. Sylvain has always referred to Dimitri with reverence, but to think that his close friend would be the ruler of Faerghus—well, it’s a thing that Sylvain’s always known would happen, but it’s still so surreal to think about. In five years, Sylvain can’t even fathom what he himself would look like; he doesn’t know how Dimitri deals with knowing all this power awaits him in the nearby future.</p><p>"That’s right,” Sylvain finds himself saying. “I suppose we all know it’s coming, but by then, you’ll be far removed from us.” Ingrid frowns at him.</p><p>“Come now,” Dimitri chides softly with a shake of his head. “You know me better than that. My title may change, but I won’t. And it won’t just be me, you know.” Dimitri gestures at all of his friends. “Five years from now, you’ll all have your own stuffy positions to contend with. But as I understand it, the festivities will be of a scale far beyond anything we’ve yet seen… In other words, the perfect excuse for us all to return here.”</p><p>Sylvain feels his world halt for a split second. That’s right. He’s the son of a margrave. There’s a chance that Margrave Gautier may try to pass off his title and marry off Sylvain to some wealthy noblewoman. There’s a chance that Sylvain may be forced into a position of some kind of power, just like Dimitri will be.</p><p>But Sylvain detests that thought. Now that he’s tasted freedom, away from his father and his unwavering expectations, he doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to let his Crest rule his life more than it already does. He doesn’t want to pick up his father’s title and marry some woman that isn’t Felix—</p><p><em>Felix? </em>Sylvain blinks. He feels embarrassment clawing at the inside of his skull. He looks around the room, as if someone had heard his thoughts, and he sighs in relief when he doesn’t notice anyone staring at him. <em>Did I really just think that? </em>After a beat, he thinks, <em>Is that what I really want? Felix? </em></p><p>He thinks of all those times that Felix had been there with him. He thinks of the warm, safe feeling he associates with Felix. He thinks of the way that Felix looked when they trained together, bathed in moonlight. He thinks of how he felt so <em>odd</em> then.</p><p>And he can’t help but to think, <em>I think it is.</em></p><p>But he chides himself. <em>Ugh, now isn’t the time to be thinking of things like that. I’m with my friends. I can’t just... just have these kinds of thoughts.</em></p><p>When Sylvain tunes back into the conversation, the Blue Lions are chatting excitedly about meeting back up with the Professor at Garreg Mach in five years. Sylvain smiles and promises that he’ll be there too, pushing aside all his issues—and his interesting discovery—so that he can reflect on them at a later time.</p><p>-</p><p>The Garreg Mach Establishment Day ball is held in the reception hall, but the whole monastery is decked out in decorations. Colored paper cutouts and sparkly ornaments—garlands and wreaths, spangles and tinsel, banners and ribbons—are pinned on every wall, hung from every ceiling, plastered on every window. Every table bears an ivory tablecloth, trimmed with intricate patterns of lace, and a large bouquet of Fodlan’s finest roses.</p><p>The students are served plenty of gourmet food that the kitchen staff spent all day cooking and plenty of sparkling apple cider in those tall, champagne glasses. Even though no actual champagne finds its way into the reception hall, especially under the strict gaze of Seteth who supervises probably just to watch over Flayn, Sylvain’s sure that there is some around the monastery grounds, just out of the reach of the students.</p><p>The reception hall is glowing, gleaming, glittering. Chandeliers overhead are all lit, showering the room in gold and warmth. Students gather with their friends and excitedly chat along the sides of the room, near the walls, leaving room in the center for couples, who flock there and waltz together to the sound of the band playing music, slow and heartfelt. They sway, swirl, spin; their eyes never leave their partners’.</p><p>Sylvain spends a lot of the night dancing with different ladies—and even a few men. His feet hurt from his tight, formal, ballroom shoes; he’s feeling a little hot and stuffy in his clothes, especially with all these people packed into the same room that’s lit with candles; and he’s a little tired of having women turn him down so vehemently, but he doesn’t show anything beyond his trademark charming smile. After all, he’s here for a good time, and he’s not leaving without one.</p><p>He snags a dance with just about everyone in the Blue Lions, starting with Mercedes and ending with Ashe, flushed and shaky, who profusely apologizes for whenever he steps on Sylvain’s foot.</p><p>The ball is fun. He’s never been one for formal ballroom parties—the uncomfortable clothes, the polite but somewhat forced and awkward small talk, the dancing with strangers—but he admits that this is still a pleasant experience. He makes people smile, gets to meet others, and he gets to be with his friends, who are just as happy.</p><p>Yet, after a while, he grows tired himself and takes a step out of the ballroom to catch his breath. The cool air of the winter bright is sharp and stings, but it still feels nice after being in such a warm room. He lets the cold air cool him off as he looks up at the night sky. The sky is clear, and little stars can be seen dancing their own waltzes in the sky beside the moon.</p><p>The excited giggle and shushing of a few girls draws his attention. He sees them hurrying over to the Goddess Tower, probably to meet their lovers.</p><p>Sylvain wonders if there’s anyone waiting for him there.</p><p>He thinks about all the girls he would see, all trying to marry into his family for his Crest and his wealth. He thinks about how many superficial people might stop him and ask to see him at the Goddess Tower. He thinks about how he’d have to be honest and upset someone on the night of such a grand ball.</p><p>Going to the Goddess Tower doesn’t seem all that appealing. He could head back into the reception hall and dance a little more with friends or get some more of those delicious treats and the apple cider.</p><p>But he finds himself wandering down to the Goddess Tower anyway.</p><p>He isn’t really sure as to why, but he’s drawn to the tower, wondering if there’s something—some<em>one</em>—pleasant waiting for him. Someone honest, lovely, kind. Someone who understands him and respects him and truly cares for him and not his name, his Crest, his wealth. Someone Sylvain wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with.</p><p><em>It’s just a legend,</em> he reminds himself. <em>Don’t get your hopes up so high.</em></p><p>He passes by a few happy couples on his way to the Goddess Tower. Some are seated at benches with their lover; some are walking back to the reception hall to see out the rest of the ball. He also passes a few dejected people on his way, grimacing a little on their behalf.</p><p>He makes his way to the top of the tower. The stone walls of the stairwell swirl up into what seems like an eternity, a few rooms branching off from the stairs, but Sylvain steadily makes his way to the very top.</p><p><em>The view from up there must be nice,</em> Sylvain reasons, trying to quell his hopes that someone’s waiting for him. <em>I’ll just stop by up there, get a glimpse of the view, catch my breath. Then I’ll head back.</em></p><p>He’s surprised that he doesn’t see anyone there. To be fair, he does realize that most of the other students are probably back at the ball, and he knows that not many wanted to scale the entire tower to make their vows to the Goddess and each other.</p><p>But Sylvain isn’t waiting on anyone, and no one is waiting for him so it’d be fine if he spent some time and actually climbed to the top.</p><p>To his surprise, right as Sylvain steps onto the floor bearing the highest room on the tower, he finds a figure there, silhouetted by the moonlight streaming through the window. They sit beside the opened window, one knee propped up and resting an elbow on it. They don’t seem to notice that he’s entered, staring out into the night.</p><p>“Ah, sorry,” Sylvain sheepishly says. “Didn’t think that this room was occupied.” He starts to make his leave when the figure turns to face him. It’s dark, but Sylvain feels like he would recognize him even if he were entirely sightless. “Felix?”</p><p>Felix quietly stands up and tucks his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “You’re here.” Felix peers around Sylvain. “Alone,” he adds.</p><p>Perhaps his eyes were playing a trick on his hopeful little heart. Perhaps it was all a trick of the light—after all, how could Sylvain have missed Felix’s glowing halo? He rubs his eyes and blinks a little, but he finds Felix still standing before him, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>Sylvain’s heart stutters, but he puts on a smile. “Huh. I guess I am.”</p><p>“You’re not bringing a girl here?”</p><p>Sylvain huffs out a little laugh. “Were you here to spy on me?” Sylvain teases, but his heart falls at the thought that Felix wasn’t truly there for him.</p><p>Felix turns his back to Sylvain, looking back out the window. “No.” His voice is serious, soft, small. His voice is just hardly audible. There isn’t any of that typical, grumpy Felix charm in it—no exasperated sighs, no punchy comments, no deadpan jokes.</p><p>Unease starts to flare in Sylvain’s chest. Is something wrong?</p><p>“No?” Sylvain shuts the door behind him and steps into the room, stopping beside Felix. He follows Felix’s gaze, but his eyes keep wandering back to Felix.</p><p>He can’t hide it from himself any longer. He never climbed up here for the view from the Goddess Tower. He was hoping to meet Felix.</p><p>“Sylvain.” Felix turns to face Sylvain, and Sylvain tries to make it look like he wasn’t staring at him, averting his gaze quickly and bringing it back to look at Felix. “Do you really want to know what I’m here for?”</p><p>Sylvain smiles at him. “Well, I’m definitely curious.”</p><p>“I was waiting for someone.”</p><p>Sylvain blinks. His head repeats those words in his head, and he feels a small crack forming in his heart at the thought of Felix meeting with another guardian angel here, here to confess his love for them and ask them to stay with him for as long as the Goddess wills it. Sylvain’s future feels so much dimmer, so much lonelier, so much sadder.</p><p>“Sylvain?”</p><p>Sylvain must have zoned out for a little too long.</p><p>He clears his throat and forces out a laugh. “Well! I would have never thought you to be a romantic, Felix!” Felix stares at him flatly, and Sylvain averts his gaze, pretending to look around. “So! Who’s the lucky lady? Or man, if that’s what you’re into. Introduce me to them, won’t you?”</p><p>“Ugh. Don’t be such an airhead. There is no lucky lady.” Felix untucks his arms from the sleeves of his robes. “Anyway, if you’re not here for some girl either, why are <em>you</em> here?”</p><p>“Well, I was waiting for someone too.”</p><p>Felix’s façade flickers like a flame in the wind, from a look of indifference to something else back to indifference. “Is that so?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He smiles, pitying himself. Of <em>course</em> Felix has someone else’s heart. He’s Felix—strong, handsome, quick-witted. Who <em>wouldn’t</em> want him? “I was thinking that maybe I could make a vow with them, but…” He trails off with a small shrug.</p><p>Felix lets out a small sigh. “Don’t let my presence deter you. I can leave.”</p><p>Just as Felix makes his way to the window, as if to jump out and soar away, Sylvain blurts out, “No!” Sylvain tenses at the desperate sound of his voice. He lets out a small sigh. “You can stay. You should stay.”</p><p>Felix gives him a weird look, but he sticks around.</p><p>Sylvain’s thoughts scramble about his head, a helter-skelter battleground. He wants to tell Felix about his hopes, about his feelings, but he knows that he risks their close friendship. And the fact that Felix was waiting for someone—well, that’s just the cherry on top of the cake, isn’t it?</p><p>But Sylvain doesn’t want to carry these feelings in his chest forever. He doesn’t want his feelings to hold him down and ruin what’s going on between him and Felix already.</p><p>So he takes a deep breath.</p><p>“Felix.” Sylvain locks eyes with Felix. He’s briefly reminded of when he trained with Felix out in the middle of the night at he training hall. He looks just as ethereal, just as lovely. It urges Sylvain to keep speaking. “I need to tell you something.”</p><p>“I’m listening.”</p><p>Sylvain’s heart is beating so hard, so fast, that he can feel the thumping in his hands and his cheeks. He’s never felt this nervous to tell someone that he likes them. He tells girls that he loves them all the time; what makes this so different?</p><p>Well, maybe it’s because Sylvain actually cares about Felix.</p><p>“Sylvain, hurry up and tell me.”</p><p>Sylvain musters up his courage to speak. “Well, I was going to wait for <em>you</em> here.” He holds his breath for Felix’s reaction, but he remains silence. His expression only changes slightly. He gingerly continues, “Because I realized something while you’ve been visiting me.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Sylvain feels his skin heating up. He feels so terrified, handing his constantly beaten and battered heart over to Felix like this. Like treading a tightrope across a ravine, Sylvain feels himself teeter and totter, just one mistake from falling into the gaping maws of uncertainty and darkness. He can’t help but to envision himself at the end of this encounter, numb and shattered beyond recognition.</p><p>But Felix is giving him an earnest look, silently cuing him to continue.</p><p>“You’ve—you’ve been around since I was young,” Sylvain starts, and Felix nods along. “You’ve spent so much time with me. I've seen you through your troubles, and you’ve seen me through literally all of my highs and lows.” He smiles sheepish. “Really, I have no idea how you put up with me and all my petty problems.”</p><p>Felix doesn’t hesitate. “Sylvain. They’re not petty.”</p><p>Sylvain shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m getting off-topic.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Well, I’ve come to realize recently that I really…” He isn’t sure what to say. He doesn’t want to come off too strong, but that’s all his feelings are—overwhelmingly strong. But, as if the Goddess herself were guiding Sylvain’s tongue, he finds himself speaking again. “I like you.”</p><p>Felix’s eyes widen. His expression, always so guarded and stern, looks openly shocked.</p><p>“I like you,” he repeats, and it feels so, so <em>liberating</em>. It’s like he’s grown wings of his own, flying away from the way that the feelings he’s harbored for years and years have trapped him and vexed him. He can’t stop himself from rambling, even though he knows how he must sound.</p><p>“I like your voice, your wings, your <em>everything</em>,” he insists. “I like the way that you fight, the way that you stay with me even when you don’t have to, the way that you keep me safe, the way that you’re honest with me and understand me—the <em>real</em> me. You’ve always made me feel worthwhile. Invincible. Loved.” He shuts his eyes. “And I only recently realized that I’ve always liked you.”</p><p>Felix’s face starts to turn pink. He furrows his brows. “You—” he sputters. “You…”</p><p>“And you don’t have to feel the same way,” Sylvain quickly assures. “But tonight, I was hoping that we could make a vow together. One to stay friends, at the very least.” He smiles sheepishly, sadly. His balancing act is coming to an end. Still, Sylvain sees himself falling into darkness. “You might be my guardian angel, but I’ve grown to see as my closest and dearest friend. You’re important to me, you know.”</p><p>Felix stares at Sylvain, still wearing that shaken expression with his cheeks still pink. When he sees that Sylvain is patiently waiting for an answer, he tries to gather himself together.</p><p>“Don’t play games with me,” Felix huffs, but his words lack venom and conviction. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”</p><p>“Huh?” Sylvain blinks. Then he fervently shakes his head. “No, no. I mean it, Felix.”</p><p>“You mean it? Even though you flirt with girls all the time?” He narrows his eyes. “I’m not buying it.” He crosses his arms.</p><p>Sylvain winces. <em>And this is how it all falls apart, isn’t it?</em> he laments. <em>I should have stopped flirting around like that long ago.</em></p><p>“I can see how that makes me seem insincere, but I really do mean it, Felix.” When Felix remains unconvinced, Sylvain gives a small sigh. “I don’t flirt with those girls because I like them. I…”</p><p>Under any ordinary circumstance, he would never reveal why he’s the way he is. He would never tell anyone why he flirts like this. But this is Felix. Sylvain trusts Felix with his life—literally. If Felix asked Sylvain to jump into a volcano, Sylvain would.</p><p>“I don’t like them, Fe. I only flirt with them because…” He smiles bitterly. “Because it’s nice to feel loved by someone, even if I know that they have ulterior motives.” He averts his gaze. “I know. It’s terrible. I’m manipulative and heartless. I know. But I don’t plan to do anything like that to you—and I wouldn’t plan on seeing anyone else if I were with you.”</p><p>There’s a pause, tense like a rope being pulled apart with its little strands slowly stretching and ripping and unraveling. Sylvain feels like at any moment, Felix is going to crush his heart and leave him irreparable. Felix gives Sylvain a wary onceover, slow and deliberate.</p><p>Finally, after what feels like years, Felix gives a small sigh. “I can tell you’re not lying.” He turns his gaze away.</p><p>Sylvain nods. “I’m not,” he agrees. Anxiety still stirs in his chest. He desperately wishes that Felix would tell him what he’s thinking about.</p><p>Another silence starts to settle between them, but Felix doesn’t let it linger quite as long as it did before. With his gaze trained on the ground, Felix mutters, “Courting me will be more trouble than it’s worth, you know.”</p><p>Sylvain frowns and takes a few steps forward. “And I don’t mind. I’m telling you—I’m serious about this. I’m serious about <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. “Really, you—you really just<em> say</em> things and—” He turns to face Sylvain, and he jumps a little when he sees how close Sylvain is to him. His eyes go wide; his face goes red.</p><p>They’re practically nose-to-nose. Sylvain had tried to keep a bit of space between them, but Felix had inadvertently stepped forward while turning, leaving them a few inches apart.</p><p>Sylvain’s instinct is to lean forward, to merge their lips, but he wouldn’t want to do anything that Felix wouldn’t like. He stands still, but his determined gaze doesn’t leave Felix’s gaze. Felix’s caramel-colored eyes seem transfixed on him too.</p><p>The world steadily comes to a stop around them, and Sylvain feels odd and fuzzy, especially seeing how flushed Felix is and how embarrassed he looks, fidgeting a little and trying to avert his gaze. His eyes never stay away long.</p><p>“What were you going to say?” Sylvain asks quietly, and Felix tears his gaze away, looking at the ground. Felix takes a small step back. Sylvain’s question lingers in the air and slowly peters out, fading into the air as if it had never existed, had never been uttered.</p><p>"Sylvain.” Felix’s voice is steady. “I was waiting for someone.”</p><p>Sylvain smiles sadly. <em>Should I really have expected anything different when he’d told me that right off the bat?</em> Sylvain wonders. <em>Should I even have bothered?</em> <em>Is it too late to try and take my words back?</em></p><p>“Right, you told me that. And I understand if you can't return my f—”</p><p>“Don’t you get it? Are you that dense?” Felix grimaces and lets his eyes wander back up to Sylvain’s. His eyes burn with an intensity that makes Sylvain's stomach churn, that makes his heart jitter. “That someone is you.”</p><p>Sylvain stares at Felix, dumbfounded.</p><p>And stares.</p><p>And stares some more.</p><p>“Hey, stop staring at me like that and say something already,” Felix huffs, his cheeks burning bright red again. "<em>Sylvain</em>."</p><p>Sylvain opens his mouth, but nothing that comes out is quite articulate. “I—you wanted to—me?” He feels his own face starting to burn red.</p><p>Felix’s lips quirk up into a small smirk. “Yes. You.”</p><p>Sylvain finally finds his tongue. “You’re serious?” His heart foolishly rises in his chest, beating fast and hopefully. “You mean that you like me back?”</p><p>Felix flushes and averts his gaze. But he gives a small nod, and it’s like Sylvain’s world is suddenly bathed in bright, warm lights and colors, similar to the way that students fire colorful bolts and flashes of magic towards the night sky to celebrate the ball, illuminating the sky.</p><p>It’s embarrassing how giddy he feels. One would think that after ‘confessing’ his undying love for several different girls a month and hearing them say the same things back to him, Sylvain would grow used to things like this, but he’s not.</p><p>Like a breath of relief, Sylvain feels tension slip away from his body, replaced by joy and an odd emotion that’s soft and warm. He smiles brightly, and he knows he must look stupid with his face burning the same stupid shade as his hair, but he can’t help himself.</p><p>“If you feel the same way, then how about we follow tradition and make our vows?” Sylvain suggests. “We are at the Goddess Tower, after all.”</p><p>Had it been anyone else, Sylvain wouldn’t have asked. He would need time to assess who they really are, want they really want, what <em>he </em>really wants—but he’s known Felix since that day he saved Sylvain from the well, and through all the time that they’d spent together, through all their hardships and triumphs, he’s grown to know him and trust him wholeheartedly.</p><p>And he has a small feeling that Felix feels the same.</p><p>“A vow,” Felix echoes. He meets Sylvain’s gaze and nods. “Fine.”</p><p>Sylvain smiles at him. “Then I’ll go first.”</p><p>Sylvain steps forward, closing the distance between him and Felix, and he gingerly takes Felix’s hands in his own. When Felix makes no move to pull away, Sylvain squeezes his hands a little, noting how they’re rougher, smaller, and paler than his own. He rubs his thumbs lightly over Felix’s knuckles and smiles at little down at their intertwined hands.</p><p>He’s never made any sort of formal vow before, but he’s sure that Felix isn’t expecting him to say anything too detailed or eloquent. After all, both of them hadn’t truly expected to meet each other here tonight; just by a stroke of luck, they were brought together, and just by a stroke of impulsivity, they were united the way that they are.</p><p>Sylvain lifts his head, his eyes meeting Felix’s. “Felix, I vow to stay loyal to you, to make you feel as loved and safe and happy as you make me, to always be with you as a friend and a lover—through thick and thin until the day that we die.”</p><p><em>The day that we die, </em>thinks Sylvain as Felix furrows his brow while thinking up his own vows, <em>it won’t be sad at all because even though I’d be gone, I’d be with you. We’ll die together, just as we promised all those years ago.</em></p><p>Felix stares down at their hands briefly. “Sylvain,” he says, and his blush extends to his ears, “I vow to keep you out of harm’s way; I vow to make you feel loved—not for your Crest nor your nobility but for being you.” He pauses and quietly adds, “I’ll keep you safe until the day that we die.”</p><p>In the wake of their vows, Sylvain finds himself drifting closer, leaning in slowly. He gives Felix time to pull away, to push him off, to deny him, but Felix doesn’t.</p><p>In fact, Felix leans forward, pressing their lips together. Sylvain’s heartrate skyrockets as he pushes against Felix’s lips, savoring every second of their very first kiss.</p><p>It’s a clumsy and inexperienced kiss—it’s not like the kisses that Sylvain gets from the girls he flirts with—but it’s innocent, flustered, genuine. Sylvain feels his own heartbeat thudding in his chest at it. It doesn’t last long at all, and Sylvain laments that, but it’s singlehandedly the best kiss he’s ever had.</p><p>“Felix.” He’s breathless—helplessly smitten. He doesn’t know what he wants to say; he just wants to say Felix’s name, to have that lovely name roll off his tongue, to fluster him.</p><p>“There. You got your stupid vows,” he huffs, turning his back to Sylvain, but Sylvain isn’t anywhere near upset with Felix. How can he be when Felix is all cute and flustered with his face red and his wings fluffing up like that?</p><p>Sylvain takes a few steps over to Felix and drapes himself over him in a loose hug. Felix protests, flapping his wings in an effort to get Sylvain off him, but after a while, he gives in and leans in against Sylvain. He turns around to face Sylvain, and Sylvain just smiles at him, holding him tighter.</p><p>“You’re a fool, Sylvain. An utterly incomprehensible fool.”</p><p>“Well, tonight, you’ve made me the happiest fool in all of Fodlan,” Sylvain croons at him.</p><p>Felix shakes his head quietly and gives a soft sigh. “I guess if I’m with you now, that makes me a fool by association.” He looks at Sylvain, and Sylvain doesn’t miss the softness in his gaze, the <em>trust</em>, the <em>oh so subtle fondness.</em></p><p>Sylvain practically feels intoxicated from the joy he’s feeling—he’s got that fuzzy, dizzying feeling, and he’s warm, his cheeks flushed. “Nothing wrong with that, Fe.” Sylvain cranes his head up and pecks him on the cheek.</p><p>Felix sighs again, though now there is a small, rare smile blooming on his face. “I suppose not.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't know how to write vows of any sort, and there weren't many good examples in FE3H so I just kind of did what I could! o o;; </p><p>In other news, we're slowly starting to pull into the homestretch, baby! The next few chapters might just be the end of godsend! ;w; </p><p>Oh, and if you're looking for some more Sylvix stuff from me, keep an eye out for August 1st!! I have something special coming out then! ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. turmoil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sylvain's peaceful world explodes into a bout of violence and uncertainty.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Garreg Mach Establishment Day Ball seems to have been a brief moment of light, a flicker of hope and joy and safety in a bleak world. Shortly after the ball, the Blue Lions are mobilized to investigate reports of demonic beasts near the chapel. They defend students from the beasts, but a grim truth settles over them at the end of the battle: those dreaded beasts were once students as well, now slain by the hands of fellow attendees of the Officer Academy.</p><p>It couldn’t get any worse. Sylvain has <em>seen</em> these kids wandering about the monastery, chatting with friends and studying together. He’s seen them before, and he helped to end their lives. It’s dark; it’s terrible; it makes <em>him</em> feel like a monster. It couldn’t get any worse.</p><p>Yet, it does. After the battle, Sylvain and his friends return to their classroom, only to find that the next day, Captain Jeralt is pronounced dead, and Monica is revealed to have murdered him shortly after the battle. Professor Byleth’s expression is now clouded with grief and pain.</p><p>People think that she’s strong. She doesn’t take much time off to grieve. She teaches, even if it’s with a little less energy, and talks with students. Sylvain thinks that she’s just going through the motions, still in shock from the grief.</p><p>Sylvain wishes that he could say anything to help her feel better, the way that she tends to when she talks to him and everyone else. He wishes he could offer words of condolences, advice for moving on—but nothing comes to mind.</p><p>He thinks it’s because he puts himself in his professor’s shoes. If he had watched his father died a brutal, cold death before him, how would he react? Would he be as torn up as Professor Byleth? Would he feel as terrible as he did when he killed his own brother?</p><p>…No. He doesn’t think he would. He thinks he would watch his father rot there before him, his cruel actions and words throughout time flashing through his head. He thinks he would remember Miklan and his mother and his own years of abuse and agony and anxiety as he watched his father cling to his last breaths. He doesn’t even think that the bastard would try to reconcile with him—his father would be bitter and cold until the end.</p><p>(And strangely, a part of him wishes that it were his father who had taken that blow instead of Jeralt.)</p><p>He can’t really empathize with Byleth. But he can see why she’s so upset.</p><p>Jeralt was a good man. He’s hardly ever talked to him, but he’s seen his achievements. He’s seen the reverence people treat him with, the small smile that Byleth wore when she recalled their past, the soft desire for Byleth to spend more time with him. He knows Jeralt was infinitely better than his own father—hence, Byleth’s distress.</p><p>He just wishes that he could say something special and encouraging, something to make her smile even for a split second.</p><p>“If you can’t find a way to show your condolences,” Felix advises one night, idly sprawled out across Sylvain’s bed as Sylvain scribbles away at his assignments, “think ahead. Think present.” He sits up, his expression stern. “Try to talk to her about strategies for finding the enemy.”</p><p>Sylvain sets his quill pen down and turns to Felix. “About that—the knights are looking for the enemy as we speak, but isn’t that kind of a bad idea? Shouldn’t we be protecting what’s left of the people here? Who knows when they’re going to strike?”</p><p>Felix shrugs. “Ask her, not me. I’m not affected by this.”</p><p>“Don’t feign indifference, Fe. You <em>are</em> affected by this—by association.” Sylvain smiles a little, sly and knowing. “You’re affected by me, aren’t you?”</p><p>Felix tosses a pillow in his direction, though his expression is lit with the slightest hint of mirth.</p><p>The next day, Professor Byleth happens to stop by him, her eyes hauntingly empty and her face agonizingly anguished. Her face has never been expressive by any means, but Sylvain would prefer that any day to this pained look to her face.</p><p>He can’t help it. It’s the first thing that he notices about her, and it’s the first that he ends up saying to her after the death of her father. “Dark expressions don’t suit you, Professor.” Sylvain flinches a little at how his words can be misconstrued as flirty, even in these hard times. She doesn’t even bat an eye. Sylvain clears his throat. “But I’m… Well, I’m glad to see you out in the world again.”</p><p>Professor Byleth’s sadness ebbs the slightest bit as she gives him a small nod, as if to say, <em>Thanks for the concern.</em></p><p>“It seems this month will be a quiet one around here.” He looks around and gestures at the empty space before them, where knights once occupied the space there. “There aren’t many knights around to liven things up. Fe—I mean, a… friend of mine—thinks it’s best that they’re gone since they’re looking for the enemy, but isn’t it a bit much, leaving the monastery unguarded? What do you think, Professor?”</p><p>Professor Byleth considers this for a moment. “You’re worrying too much,” she tells him calmly, but Sylvain can’t help but to notice how her voice sounds quieter, wearier.</p><p>Sylvain smiles at her. “Hopefully, the knights finish their business and hurry back then. I wouldn’t mind having a few extra lances around.”</p><p>Professor Byleth presses her lips into a thin smile, a weak attempt but a respected one nonetheless. She nods at him and silently excuses herself from the conversation, stepping away.</p><p>-</p><p>It would have been foolish for Sylvain to expect anything good to come out of this. It would have been downright stupid for Sylvain to think that things would get any better after everything that they’d gone through. But a small part of him desperately, childishly, wanted to cling to hope—not for his sake but for the sake of all his friends, his professor, and even his fellow Faerghans.</p><p>Yet, things only escalate, and they escalate <em>fast</em>.</p><p>Professor Byleth gets sent into a realm of darkness and returns with light green eyes and hair, with a new kind of power to her sword, with a vengeance and a strong sense of protectiveness over her students. That day was a strange day, with the Blue Lions falling into despair and anger when she disappeared and then feeling joyous—but definitely confused—when she returned. Sylvain didn’t know what to make of their professor, so strong and so mysterious, but he went along with it to the best of his ability.</p><p>Edelgard is revealed to be the Flame Emperor, Dimitri unraveling into a terrifying version of himself—hellbent with bloodlust and anger, swearing to kill her and bring home her decapitated head.</p><p>It scares Sylvain to see Dimitri act like that and act like nothing ever happened, calmly trying to switch the subject, but Felix, strangely enough, scorns Dimitri. Sylvain has never seen Felix show any particular feeling towards Dimitri, but he supposes that he’d never brought up Dimitri in any of their conversations.</p><p>"My brother died for <em>this</em>?” Felix spits, pacing around Sylvain’s dorm room that same night. “Some unhinged, pathetic jackass of a prince with no self-restraint? A bitter, hate-filled murderer?”</p><p>Sylvain’s insides coil with an unpleasant feeling, seeing Felix like this. “Felix, come on. Don’t think of this like that.” He wishes he would defend Dimitri, but he doesn’t know what to say that wouldn’t provoke Felix into getting even angrier.</p><p>It doesn’t matter. Felix doesn’t want to hear him out anyway.</p><p>“You wouldn’t <em>get</em> it, Sylvain.” Felix tenses up, a spark of fury in his eyes. “Glenn was one of the greatest angels, and he died—he gave up his <em>life</em> at just <em>sixteen—</em>trying to save someone who won’t even attempt reason. That bastard will cast away his life without even realizing how many people <em>died</em> for him.” He curls his hands into tight fists. “You just wouldn’t get it, Sylvain.”</p><p>Sylvain frowns and places a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “Are you sure? Because I think that I understand your anger, at least a little bit. I’ve grown up hearing your stories about Glenn. But—”</p><p>“But what?” Felix snarls, wrenching his shoulder from Sylvain’s hand. “You really think you understand any of this? You’ve never met him. You’ve never seen his skills; you’ve never seen his potential or his personality or how he treated me. You don’t know him nearly as well as you think you do.” His eyes dart up to see Sylvain’s expression, and his anger slowly, <em>slowly</em> melts away. He frowns and crosses his arms, averting his bitter gaze.</p><p>“You’re right. I never knew him. I don’t even know what he looks like or what he sounds like. I don’t understand.” Sylvain takes a small step closer. “But I don’t like seeing you like this.” He slowly pulls Felix in for a tight hug, giving him time to pull away. The tension in Felix’s body doesn’t budge, but he doesn’t pull away from the embrace.</p><p>“I can’t stand seeing that… that damned <em>boar</em> like that,” Felix mutters. “It gives Glenn’s death such—such a bad name. My brother didn’t die for a lowlife; the greatest knight, the strongest and most skilled guardian angel I know, didn’t die defending a brute.”</p><p>“I know, but Dimitri isn’t as bad as you think.”</p><p>Felix gives a grunt. Sylvain doesn’t need to hear his voice to hear the sarcastic <em>yeah, right.</em> Nonetheless, Felix doesn’t press the issue any further. Sylvain can still feel his anger and unease, but Felix says nothing more on the issue, reluctantly settling in Sylvain’s arms.</p><p>-</p><p>The Adrestian Empire declares war upon the Church of Seiros.</p><p>Garreg Mach Monastery does what it can in the short time span to prepare. Knights are deployed to protect the walls; professors give crash-course lessons, as a last ditch attempt to prepare them for battle. Students write home to their friends and family, promising to do their best but making no promises to return unscathed. Merchants fetch and sell their finest weapons to the monastery. Horses and wyverns and pegasuses are groomed and fed and prepared for battle.</p><p>The day of the battle is brutal. The monastery is set at a great disadvantage with the Adrestian Empire’s ambush, led by Edelgard herself. The Adrestian Empire pushes on against the defensive line and claims strongholds, preventing reinforcements.</p><p>The Blue Lions fight like hell, but with every fallen Adrestian soldier, another ten seem to take his place. And then, Edelgard calls in even more troops—her reserve troops. Endless Empire soldiers, accompanied by a pack of demonic beasts, rush towards the monastery walls.</p><p>Amidst the chaos, Sylvain is separated from the rest of the Blue Lions. He watches as the soldiers march steadily towards the monastery. He watches as the walls collapse, as his professor is flung into an abyss. He watches as fellow knights flee as the Adrestian Empire destroys the monastery.</p><p>Sylvain barely has enough time to think. He tears his gaze from the monastery and turns his horse around to face the surrounding forest. He urges his horse forward, trying his damnedest to ignore the screams and the burning and the sounds of destruction and despair. His horse doesn’t seem to want to listen to him, panicked by the sounds going on behind them—the growling of beasts, the screams of men, the crumbling of walls.</p><p>His horse jolts and squirms and neighs desperately as they ride. The forest seems to come down around them, trees burning and crackling and crashing. His horse rears up as a tree falls right in front of them. Behind him, he hears arrows cut through the air and whizz towards him; he hears people screaming names, trying to find those they care about—he thinks he can faintly hear Annette screaming <em>Mercie! where are you?!</em> <em>please, Mercie, where are you?!</em> as her voice slowly drifts into the distance.</p><p>Sylvain strokes his horse’s mane. “You’re doing great, Lady,” he tells her over the sound of chaos. He can only imagine how terrifying this all must be for her. He grimaces as an arrow narrowly flies by, cutting his cheek. “Keep going, just like that.”</p><p>Eventually, he’s ridden far enough away from Garreg Mach where he isn’t getting shot at and where he can hardly hear the destruction anymore. Once cursory glance behind him shows the monastery up in flames, a dark plume of smoke rising from the sacred building as Adrestian soldiers triumphantly wave around their flag.</p><p>Sylvain’s exhausted; his thighs ache from riding so long, his arms ache from fighting, and his wounds burn. Lady is exhausted, her poor legs just about folding underneath her body. But he can’t afford to stop here. He knows that the Adrestian soldiers will be out patrolling the area for straggling Faerghan knights soon, and he isn’t trying to get caught. So he keeps on riding without a shadow of a doubt.</p><p>He rides well into the night, the moon shining overhead. He has no idea where he is—it appears to be some kind of forest still—but it seems remote enough and far enough that he won’t get caught by Adrestians. He gets off his horse, patting her along her muzzle.</p><p>“You did great,” he tells her, looking up at the moon. He distantly wonders where his friends are. How they are. If they’re even alive anymore. It’s a terrible thought, but there’s a chance his friends could have died while trying to escape the onslaught at Garreg Mach. He hopes they’re alright, but as for now…</p><p>He’s alone. He’s completely, totally, utterly alone. And Fodlan is at war.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And now onto the war!! &gt;:3c</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. gautier</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As the war engulfs all of Fodlan and rages on around him, Sylvain returns back to the Gautier territory.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, after sleeping against an uncomfortable cleft left in the side of a tree, Sylvain gets up. For a split second, he has no idea why he's in the forest instead of his comfortable dorm room. Where are his cozy wooden walls with his soft, Faerghus-blue rug? His neat desk with his alphabetically sorted books and his board games? The little corner of his room that Felix liked to hang out in?</p><p>And then it all returns to him, hitting him like a wave of Thoron fired straight through his heart, leaving him numb.</p><p>Flashes of the ruthless war run through his head. Hearing the screams of classmates, foes, and beasts alike; hearing the sounds of metal against metal, of bodies and walls collapsing to the ground. Getting arrows shot at him as he and Lady ride out of a burning forest, the burnt smell of magic and burning trees swelling up into the air around him. Riding well into the night until Lady physically couldn't run anymore.</p><p>His poor little Lady. Sylvain walks over to his horse and strokes her mane. She looks up at him.</p><p>"Good morning, Lady," he greets with a small smile. She butts her muzzle against his palm. "Aww, there's my little lady. You did so well yesterday. I'm very proud of you." He gently guides her to her feet. "Let's get you something to drink."</p><p>He leads his horse to a nearby creek to let her get some water. As she drinks, Sylvain plants his hands on his hips and looks around to try and get his bearings.</p><p><em>Fodlan's at war,</em> a small voice creeps into his head, and a chill runs through his spine. <em>I am living through an </em>actual<em> war.</em></p><p>It's a very sobering thought, dampening any morsels of joy in him. It doesn't help that his friends are probably running from the Imperial army just like he is and that Garreg Mach is getting mercilessly torn down. </p><p>The thought of any of his friends getting captured or hurt drives Sylvain crazy. The sheer terror of it all is enough to make Sylvain want to hop onto his horse and ride back to Garreg Mach to try and rescue any of his friends still left there. Sylvain wants to be positive, but his damned brain takes the possibilities of what could have happened to his sweet, strong friends and twists them into terrible thoughts, leaving him with a pit in his stomach and a bitter taste in his mouth.</p><p>And Felix—oh, <em>Felix. </em>Where could he be? Sylvain hasn't seen him since before the war broke out. Sylvain can only hope that he's okay.</p><p><em>Why wouldn't Felix be okay?</em> he reasons weakly. <em>He's a great fighter, better than most human fighters, and he's an angel. He should be fine. </em>His brain unhelpfully conjures up the memory of Felix mourning Glenn's death. <em>Felix isn't invincible,</em> his mind reminds him. <em>He can get hurt. He can die too.</em></p><p>That's the straw that breaks the camel's back. </p><p>His breaths coming out in short, anxious puffs, his heart-rate just about doubles at the thought of something happening to Felix. Had Felix been at the monastery protecting Sylvain during that battle? Is Felix there at the monastery, waiting for Sylvain to come back to his dorm and meet up with him? Is Felix even alive?</p><p>Sylvain barely hears Lady's concerned whinny, barely feels her large muzzle nudging his arm.</p><p>Sylvain's hands tremble, his chest constricts, and he feels like he's going to upend the meager meal he had the day before. His knees start to wobble as he digs his nails into his palms. His vision starts to dim, little black spots popping in and out of his vision. </p><p>If anything had happened to Felix and Sylvain wasn't there to protect him, he would never forgive himself.</p><p><em>No</em>, he tells himself firmly. <em>I'm not going to panic. Not right now. Felix is fine. My classmates, my</em> friends, <em>are okay</em>. <em>I'm okay. We'll be okay.</em> </p><p>He doesn't believe a word of what he's telling himself, but he repeats it over and over like a desperate prayer. He focuses on taking deep breaths and grounding himself, trying to look around to take his mind off his panic. </p><p>It's a good idea. This forest seems so serene and calming. He has no idea where he is, though he can see that he's surrounded by a winding labyrinth of trees and shrubs and boulders.</p><p>Like a time capsule buried deep beneath the world, the forest he's in seems untouched by the coming horrors of war. Animals dip and dart to tend to their lives about the forest after a cursory glance at Sylvain and his horse. Plants still stretch up towards the sun and spread out their branches and leaves with pride. The clear creek world here is so silent, gentle, forgiving. It's so peaceful.</p><p>It gives Sylvain a very needed second to catch his breath briefly. As his ears focus on the babbling brook that his horse was drinking from and as his eyes focus on the grass, dappled with dancing splotches of light that pierce through the leaves above, he steadies his nerves.</p><p>Once he's calmed himself down, he decides to actually get a better look at his surroundings and what he's got to work with.</p><p>He’s sure that from a higher perspective, he could try to find the nearest village, but he doesn’t think that he’s anywhere near light nor limber enough to scale a tree all the way to the top. He can feel himself falling just <em>looking </em>at the trees around him and their flimsy branches. Looks like he’s going to have to do some exploring with Lady.</p><p>As for what he has with him—he doesn’t have food or water. He has an empty canteen that he can probably fill with water from this creek, seeing that it’s a pretty clean source of running water, but he has no food. All he has is a half empty bottle of vulnerary, the Lance of Ruin, and a few bars of bullion that he picked up from defeating soldiers back at Garreg Mach. He also has a silver shield and a prayer ring that Professor Byleth had gifted him with before the battle. If all comes to worst, he supposes that he can pawn them off.</p><p>Gods, he hopes that Professor Byleth is alright. He hopes his friends are alright. And he hopes with his heart and soul that Felix is alright. He just wants to see them again, all smiling and warm and <em>alive</em> like they were at the monastery. </p><p>He can't bring himself to ruminate on them too long, lest he fall into another panic.</p><p>For the time being, his first task is going to be getting out of this forest and finding the nearest village. After he gets himself some kind of food, he can figure out where he’s going and what he’s doing.</p><p>He fills his canteen with water and climbs atop his horse, stroking her mane.</p><p>“C'mon. Let’s get out of here.”</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain eventually finds his way out of the forest, following the creek. Sure enough, he finds a little settlement, camped right where the creek bleeds into a lake. The people don’t seem to particularly care that he’s there, but he does get a number of wary looks as he wanders into the town square.</p><p>He buys some apples and carrots for his horse and buys himself some bread before asking the locals where he is. They give him a name that he doesn’t recognize, but they’re happy to point out their location on a map.</p><p>Sylvain lets out a small whistle, running a hand through his hair. He’s around the Airmid territory, the border between the Leicester Alliance and the Adrestian Empire. He really pities his poor horse's legs now. They'd ridden pretty far out from Garreg Mach.</p><p>But he's not far enough. He needs to get moving and fast. There’s no telling what the Adrestian Empire is planning on doing, now that they’ve captured the heart, the center, of Fodlan—Garreg Mach. It doesn’t do him any good to be in the Adrestian Empire’s territory right now, especially given that the second someone recognizes him, it’s over—he’s to be captured and killed, or tortured and used as a pawn to weaken Faerghus.</p><p>He feeds his horse and munches on some bread as he leads his horse away, following a map that a lady, pleased with his smooth-talking, had handed him. For now, his safest bet is to go back to Faerghus, where his people are passionately fighting the Adrestian Empire’s forces back. There’s no doubt about it—right now, under the stress of trying to prepare the Gautier lands for a possible invasion, his father is an insufferable tyrant, barking orders and striking those who aren’t doing his bidding as soon as possible.</p><p>Sylvain’s heart stutters uncomfortably in his chest. A cold dead seeps into his veins. He’s going to have to return home. He’s going to have to see his father.</p><p>Sylvain grimaces.</p><p>-</p><p>The trek to back to Faerghus is boring, long, lonely. The sun beats down on him and his horse, though the telltale humidity of rain wrap around him like chains. For hours and hours, he travels through the volatile Great Tree Moon weather, trying to get as far as he can from the Adrestian Empire. He only ever stops to feed his horse, relieve himself, or to sleep.</p><p>Yet, as he slowly creeps around the edges of the Leicester Alliance, he can already see Adrestian flags flying high and proud over a handful of captured towns, the towns on the border between Garreg Mach and the Leicester Alliance. There is little he can do to help, but it hurts having to force his gaze away from civilians forced under Adrestian rule, their food and weapons used to supply the war efforts rather than their own families.</p><p>It’s impossible for Sylvain to keep track of the time himself, but he does his best.</p><p>Minutes trickle into hours; hours melt into days; days bleed into weeks. With every passing day as he tries to find his way up into Faerghus, he sees more and more flags, more and more Adrestian soldiers flooding towns of the Leicester Alliance. Sometimes, he can hear cities under siege even from a distance. He's haunted by the terrified screams and the desperate war cries that carry over the land to neighboring towns.</p><p>Keeping himself discreet becomes harder as more and more soldiers start to take over the Leicester Alliance. It doesn't help that he has the ugly, twitchy, flashy Lance of Ruin in his possession, but if he keeps a low profile and keeps on a helmet, he usually can divert people’s attention. He’s just a soldier with a Heroic Relic. In any other time, this would seem extremely extraordinary—but now, as a war rages and all laws and reason seem to fly out the window, people assume that he’s simply stolen it from its owner and they avoid him.</p><p>This line of thinking keeps him safe, but an icky feeling coats him. He feels like this is how Miklan had been treated, fearful people seeing the lance in his hands and giving him a wide berth to avoid drawing his wrath and his greed.</p><p>He hates it. He hates the concerned look that people give the lance and then him. There’s no way of convincing people that he isn’t there to hurt them when he has such a threatening and important weapon in his hands. Even from beyond the grave, Miklan has an influence in Sylvain’s life beyond just the terrible self-esteem issues, childhood trauma, and habits he’s developed.</p><p>Roughly a month into his travels, he’s made it out of the Leicester Alliance—from Airmid to Daphnel to a small pass through the mountains to avoid Ailell—and into the Holy King of Faerghus. Being back in his homeland is a breath of fresh air, but it’s one that doesn’t last long. Sylvain can see that smaller towns are under attack, especially the closer they are to Garreg Mach. He can see harsh, angry plumes of smoke rising up into the air accompanied by the sounds of war.</p><p>Luckily, it seems that Faerghus isn’t going down without a fight. Whenever word that Adrestian forces are coming, every able man and woman is mobilized as soon as possible to ward off the forces.</p><p>Unluckily, this includes Sylvain.</p><p>As Sylvain starts to near the Kingdom capital, his path is blocked by soldiers.</p><p>“Halt. Where do you think you’re going?” one of the soldiers demands. “Every man is needed on the battlefield.” He briefly eyes Sylvain and the lance he bears, and recognition settles into his eyes. “Including nobles,” he adds a little pointedly. “Your social status means next to nothing in times of war.”</p><p>Another soldier nods in agreement. “Unless you’ve turned traitor,” she adds.</p><p>A hush falls over the soldiers standing before Sylvain, and Sylvain sighs. If he doesn’t come with him, they’re likely to attack him for defecting now that that soldier planted that suspicion in their head. What choice does he have? It seems that he’s going to have to put his trip to Gautier on hold for a little.</p><p>It doesn’t sound half bad, postponing his reunion with his father. Sylvain clings to the little flicker of happiness, to the cool relief that hurtles through his body briefly.</p><p><em>Oh, well,</em> he thinks a little childishly as he nods at the soldiers, <em>it can’t be helped, huh? Can’t get to Gautier right now since I’m protecting Faerghus. He’ll understand.</em></p><p>Sylvain knows that his father most definitely <em>won’t</em> understand, but he pushes the negativity out of his head as he heads to battle.</p><p>The Adrestian Empire seems quite determined to take the kingdom capital, but Sylvain refuses to let that happen while he’s here. He fights like hell, batting weapons aside in perfect parries and taking the lives of the soldiers. What the Adresitan Empire lacks in skill, they make up for in astounding numbers. Sylvain feels his arm going sore from the repeatedly swinging the Lance of Ruin around. He wonders how much longer the lance can last before needing repairs.</p><p>But Fhirdiad remains standing tall by the end of the night, when Adrestian forces finally withdraw from the capital after hours of nonstop battle. The skilled mages from Fhirdiad’s prestigious School of Sorcery did much of the fighting, but Sylvain has to admit that he’s killed many as well. He celebrates openly with his fellow survivors and soldiers of the battle, smiling as raucous cheers rock the city.</p><p>A chilling jolt runs through him. Has he grown so desensitized to war that he doesn’t mind killing other people anymore? That he’ll celebrate their deaths?</p><p><em>It was me or them,</em> he tells himself as he lets a few of the soldiers lead him into a pub for a round of celebratory drinks. <em>And I can’t die yet. Not without making sure my friends are alright. Not without Felix.</em></p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain lingers a little longer in Fhirdiad. The Adrestian Empire is relentless and desperate to capture the capital, sending great numbers to try and take it. Sylvain stays behind to fight off the army instead of heading up to Gautier.</p><p>He knows he’s stalling the inevitable. His father is waiting for him, and that heartless man will wait as long as he needs to if it means that he can give Sylvain a hard time. In fact, making him wait even longer, regardless of if Sylvain’s doing the right thing, will probably only make things worse.</p><p>Sylvain forces himself to push that notion aside and focus on staying alive through battles, on protecting Fhirdiad. He keeps an eye open for any of his friends, though he doesn’t see Annette or Mercedes or even Dimitri. He desperately hopes that they’re all alive still.</p><p>Someone must have noticed that the Gautier heir was here in Fhirdiad because one day, he gets a letter with the Gautier seal—a wax stamp with that damned Gautier Crest, of course, because his family values little else. It’s undoubtedly from his father.</p><p>It’s a short letter, worded coldly and politely, but Sylvain can read the venom between the lines. <em>Come home right now,</em> his father demands.<em> Don’t wait even a second longer. Leave defending Fhirdiad to Kingdom soldiers and get your sorry ass home right now.</em></p><p>Sylvain crumples the letter up with a shaking fist and shoves it into the storage box he has attached to his horse’s saddle. It seems it’s finally time to return home.</p><p>The soldier who handed him the letter gives him a weary look. “Are you leaving? You should really stay and protect Fhirdiad with us. You’re one of our stronger fighters.”</p><p>Sylvain smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, sweetheart, but this is a family matter.” She narrows her eyes at him as he hops onto his horse. He winks at her, a sorry attempt at normalcy, and rides up towards the north.</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain enters Gautier territory with ease, the soldiers at the edge of the land parting at the sight of him. Civilians of the Gautier territory come out to greet him, looking pleased that one of the more important nobles has returned to help protect their homes. Sylvain plasters on a smile and greets them, though he feels anything but pleased about any of this.</p><p>Sylvain rides through the cities of Gautier and makes his way up to his childhood home. He rides through that familiar forest, one where he’d tried running away, and he rides up the path on the large, grassy hill leading to his estate. He hops off his horse and pats Lady lovingly on the neck. The little grunt she lets out calms his nerves a little.</p><p>He takes Lady by the reins and leads her to the estate, where his father and mother are standing outside, waiting for him. A few maids of the house are there too. Sylvain feels his stomach ties itself into knots of dread. It all feels too normal, like they’re greeting him after coming back from the academy instead of coming back from fighting a war in Fhirdiad.</p><p>When Sylvain’s close enough, his father gestures with a smooth flick of the wrist, and a stableboy comes out to take the reins and lead his horse away. Sylvain feels a little torn seeing Lady being taken to the Gautier estate’s stables, but he knows that she’ll be there, waiting for him so he lets her go after one last stroke against her mane.</p><p>“Welcome home, Sylvain,” his father says. It’s flat, cold, distant.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“We have much to discuss. Come.”</p><p>Sylvain feels an icy cold dread seize him, but he forces one foot after another, following his father into the house and to his office.</p><p>-</p><p>Needless to say, Sylvain’s father was not pleased with the fact that Sylvain took so long to return from Garreg Mach after the war broke out. Even with Adrestian forces targeting Fhirdiad, there were troops sent to all the major territories in order to weaken Faerghus. Gautier has been facing quite a number of enemy troops, and Margrave Gautier thought Sylvain—or, rather, the Lance of Ruin—would have been helpful during their efforts in the war.</p><p>“And instead, you were out there, probably whoring yourself out. Dragging your feet here. Being a useless, pathetic excuse for a son,” his father had snapped at him, a fistful of Sylvain’s collar in his hand. Sylvain winced, expecting his father to lift his hand and strike him again. “A good, honorable Gautier son would have come straight home, and you couldn’t even manage that.” He let go of Sylvain’s collar roughly, throwing him back. “Even a beat dog knows its way home,” he muttered coldly.</p><p>Sylvain rubs his aching ribs with a hiss—<em>of course his father hurts him somewhere no one will be able to see—</em>as he steps out of the bath. A cursory glance at the mirror reveals an unsightly bruise starting to discolor his ribs, and a red handprint blooming along his cheekbone. The handprint will fade before morning. The bruise will not.</p><p>It could have been worse. It could have been a <em>lot</em> worse. Sylvain’s lucky that his father isn’t feel up to beating the living hell out of him.</p><p>The Gautier estate is lively, now that there is another person living there. Maids scramble to ready his childhood bedroom, and cooks prepare more food. Some servants even insist on trying to baby him as they once had before, lying out his clothes for him on his bed and even offering to help him dress.</p><p>Sylvain shoos them away and sighs as he gets dressed. His right hand feels so light and empty without the Lance of Ruin constantly weighing it down. It had been taken away for repairs with promises to be returned to him by the next morning, just in case the Adrestian army attempts to attack. Sylvain doesn’t miss it at all. That damned lance gave him a terrible feeling, especially with how it twitched in his hands. Lances should <em>not</em> move like that. Hell, they shouldn’t move <em>at all</em>. They’re inanimate.</p><p>Sylvain opens the door to his childhood bedroom. Everything is still neatly in place since the last time he’d been here. The books he left behind are still filed away on his bookshelf, his bed is made, and his bulletin board still bears the same—</p><p>No, it’s missing something. He’s missing the little cat charm Felix had made him. He had taken it with him to Garreg Mach, and he hadn’t thought to grab it before he went to battle. Sylvain knows that it doesn’t have any actual magic imbued in it, nothing that would lead Felix back to him, but it has great sentimental value. He heaves a soft sigh and gently presses his fingers to his bulletin board, where it once hung.</p><p>Sylvain steps away from the bulletin board and turns to face his bed. His eyes wander to his window. Moonlight warmly seeps into the room, but it comes in around a figure standing before his window. Sylvain’s eyes widen, and relief wracks his body.</p><p>Standing there is a familiar silhouette, one that Sylvain would recognize even in death, Felix. Just like all those times before, where Felix would sit upon the windowsill. Felix now stands, too big to comfortable sit up on the windowsill.</p><p>“Felix.” Sylvain’s voice comes out in a small wisp. Though he’s said just one word, it leaves him feeling like he just run a marathon. He’s breathless, weak; his voice is small. But a fond smile pulls the ends of his lips up.</p><p>Felix turns to face him and clicks his tongue at the sight of Sylvain. Wordlessly, Felix comes forth. His hand hovers above the smarting handprint on Sylvain’s cheek, but Sylvain wastes no time nuzzling Felix’s hand and locking eyes with him. Felix’s hand is cold against his burning cheek.</p><p>“Where have you been?” Sylvain asks quietly, pulling Felix in for a tight hug. “I missed you, you know.”</p><p><em>There’s no way for you to know,</em> Sylvain thinks.<em> I missed you so much that it’s unfathomable. It missed you so much it hurt. I thought about you every passing moment, every waking moment. I dreamt of you.</em></p><p>Felix hums. “My father has been keeping me busy.” He sighs. “You’d think that my old man would want me to tend to my human during a war, but he’s been needing my help dealing with that stupid, wretched prince of yours.” Felix pulls away from Sylvain. “You look rough.”</p><p><em>My human,</em> Sylvain’s brain echoes, ever so smitten. He ignores the pointed jab at Dimitri. He’s too caught on Felix’s wording anyway. <em>I’m your human.</em></p><p>“Sylvain.” Felix waits a beat. “You’re making that stupid face again. What are you thinking?”</p><p>“Hm? Sorry, I was distracted.”</p><p>Felix rolls his eyes. “Ugh. You’re always distracted, I swear.” Felix shakes his head. “I said that you look rough, you absolute ignoramus.”</p><p>Sylvain chuckles. “Well, I suppose that’s one way to describe my handsome and rugged look.”</p><p>There’s no fooling Felix. There’s never been any fooling Felix. And Sylvain can tell from how Felix’s eyes narrow, how his eyebrows lower and furrow the slightest bit, that he hasn’t fooled him this time either. He’s apologetic for saying that, but even with their years of friendship between them, even with their love, Sylvain can’t bring himself to say anything about his father. Deflection comes out of his mouth before he can even process what he’s said.</p><p><em>I want to be honest. I want to be honest to you, Felix, but I can’t. </em>Sylvain pushes aside his guilt. <em>Don’t worry about me, Felix. As long as you’re here, I’ll be okay.</em></p><p>“Are you going to stay?” Sylvain asks instead.</p><p>Felix gives him a flat look. “Don’t ask stupid questions.” He sweeps his long, long hair over his shoulder. Sylvain’s eyes trail after it. “My old man might force me to come back and help him out, but I don’t plan on staying with him too long. He’s annoying.”</p><p>“Well, you’re always free to come and be with me,” Sylvain offers, a purr to his voice. "I wouldn't mind spending more time with you."</p><p>Felix’s face reddens a little. “I’d rather die,” he mutters.</p><p>“That’s so mean!” Sylvain laughs and draws Felix in for another hug. “Well, dying won’t give you an out from me. We’re dying together, aren’t we?”</p><p>Felix exhales, a small puff of amusement. “Hm. Unfortunate.” The audible smile on his lips betrays his words. Felix holds Sylvain a little closer. “Glad to see you didn’t get yourself killed,” he says quietly.</p><p>
  <em>I should have. Goddess, I’m exhausted.</em>
</p><p>Felix quickly pulls away and looks up at Sylvain’s face, shock and anger in his expression. “Sylvain. Don’t say that.” His tone is sharp, warning. “Don’t even <em>joke</em> about that.”</p><p>Sylvain blinks. Had he said that out loud? He hadn’t meant to say that for Felix to hear. It was just a passing thought anyway. He's thought about dying in this war countless times while he was coming up to Gautier. It'd be easier for himself, for everyone around him. One less person to worry about. He didn't actively plan to die or anything, though. Thinking of Felix would always sway his mind away from such depressing thoughts.</p><p>He needs to play it off. The atmosphere between them is too tense.</p><p>Sylvain chuckles. “Aww, Fe! Are you worried about me? How cu—”</p><p>"Yes.”</p><p>Sylvain stares. That didn’t fluster Felix? Usually, when Sylvain says things like this, Felix will get kind of flustered and say something dismissive and exasperated. He doesn't get all serious like this.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I be? You just said that you wanted to get yourself killed.” Felix narrows his eyes. “The entire purpose to my existence is to keep you alive and well. I don't want to see you trying to just... throw your life away.” His expression hardens. "I don't want to see you hurt like that."</p><p>“I… I didn’t mean it like that, Fe."</p><p>“You’re a liar. You meant every word of it. You’ve meant it since you were little.” Ouch. Felix really knows him too well sometimes. Sylvain can’t suppress his wince, can’t suppress the sting to his heart. “Cut the shit. If you’re hurting, tell me. I’m here for you.”</p><p>Brusque as always, but it doesn’t faze Sylvain. It never does. Sylvain knows that this is just how Felix is. It makes him feel warm to think that Felix is trying to show that he genuinely cares about Sylvain. Perhaps the war is wearing on both of them already if they’re both so tense.</p><p>Sylvain just smiles. “I know. And I appreciate it. A lot.” He reaches out for Felix’s hand. Sylvain interlaces their fingers and brings their hands up to his lips, where he presses a kiss to the back of Felix’s hand. “Really. I’m okay. Now that you’re here.”</p><p>Felix seems hesitant to let this topic drop, giving Sylvain a wary look. It seems like he's trying to assess whether or not Sylvain is being honest. <em>I'm telling the truth, I promise,</em> Sylvain hopes his body language is saying. At least, Sylvain thinks it's his body language that Felix is looking at when he tries to figure out when he's lying.</p><p>“I mean it. I’ll tell you if something bothers me, but I really feel so much better now that you’re here.”</p><p>Felix sighs and concedes. “You better mean it.”</p><p>Sylvain lets out a small yawn, and Felix leads him towards his bed. Climbing on, he notices that Felix is lingering back, as if shy. Sylvain smiles warmly and pulls Felix onto the bed, into his arms. Felix doesn’t protest, lying down beside him in bed.</p><p>“If there’s something good about coming back to Gautier, other than getting to see you again, it’s the fact that I can sleep in a bed.” Sylvain lets out another yawn, one that ends in a sigh. He stretches his arms out over his head and pulls Felix close with one arm. He smiles. “I’ve been sleeping on the side of the road and in barns with Lady for so long. My back feels like a knotted mess.”</p><p>Felix scoffs. “Hmph. The war has aged you even more then, you geezer.” Though he wears no smile, his eyes are soft and fond. Warm and relieved. Loving.</p><p>-</p><p>Protecting Gautier is harder than Sylvain thought it would be.</p><p>He’s no longer just a soldier. He’s a general with soldiers beneath him. He has to strategize, which isn’t too bad given that Sylvain’s years and years of studying military formations and strategy are finally paying off instead of taking up needless room in his head. Hell, he can kind of think of it like a big game of chess. But the part he’s worried the most about is the fact that he’s sending other people into war. He’s risking their lives. His men will blindly follow him into war, and if Sylvain messes up anywhere, he’s liable to having these deaths hang over him.</p><p>He wonders if he’ll become like Dimitri, forever haunted by the dead.</p><p>He’s only had a few experiences like this at the academy. Sometimes, Professor Byleth would assign him a group of mercenaries to take with him into battle, but he hardly ever needed their help. They seemed to quite well leading themselves too, probably since they’ve spent their whole lives fighting as a group together. They didn’t need his guidance.</p><p>But the Gautier men do.</p><p>It’s a heavy burden to bear in and of itself. It doesn’t help that his father criticizes him every step of the way. At the Gautier estate’s council room, Sylvain finds himself wracked with terror whenever he must present his father with his plan to keep the Adrestian forces out of their territory. His father watches with keen eyes, with thin lips drawn into a stern frown, with flared and angry nostrils, as he taps his pen impatiently against a sheet of paper.</p><p>To be fair, he looks at everyone like that, but it feels so much more malicious because Sylvain’s his son and he expects so much more from him.</p><p>Adjusting to this terrifying position was the hardest. After Sylvain’s first mission gone wrong, a minor screw-up that lost about ten men in an ill-thought out placement, Sylvain learns very quickly what kind of position he has.</p><p>His father had stormed up to him, jumping off his horse and grabbing him by the hair after the battle. Sylvain had been checking up on one of his injured soldiers, but before he knew it, there was a sharp, smarting pain at the roots of his hair, and his gaze was leveled with his father’s. Margrave Gautier then screamed at him, right there in front of all of his men.</p><p>“You sloppy, mindless dolt!” he roared, his rough hands pulling Sylvain’s hair out of his head. Sylvain dared not to look up at his father and instead glanced back at his men. The weariness from the battle and the fear of Margrave Gautier draws their attention elsewhere. They look away at his father beats him senseless and yells at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, risking what little men we have for something so fucking <em>stupid</em>?! Just what the hell have they been teaching you in that stupid academy? I wasted my money on this?”</p><p>From then, as Sylvain doubled over in pain and let the staggering pain from his injuries knock him right out that night, Sylvain learned to be much, <em>much</em> more careful, even if it means that he spends all night double-checking and triple-checking and quadruple-checking his strategies. </p><p>It served as a pretty good warning to lesser generals too. They saw what Margrave Gautier did to his own son. If Margrave Gautier would hurt his son, his highest-ranking general, during a war, there's no telling what he would do to those he thought lesser of him.</p><p>Sylvain’s wearing thin. He’s a frontline soldier; he’s a general; he’s a son. He’s protecting Gautier, protecting his soldiers, protecting himself. From Adrestia and from his father. Expectations upon expectations fall upon his shoulders, and his shoulders feel so heavy from the weight of all his responsibilities.</p><p>All of this just because he was born with a Crest. In an ideal world, one where Crests weren’t as important as they are now, perhaps there wouldn’t be a war. Or maybe there would be. All Sylvain knows that is if he didn’t have this Crest, he would be entrusted with all these lives to care for.</p><p>Now that he thinks of it, isn’t this something that Edelgard stands for? A world less dependent on Crests? A world where, regardless of if you have a Crest or not, people are treated equally and have an equal opportunity to achieve whatever they want? Oh, how Sylvain wishes that he lived in such a world.</p><p><em>No</em>, Sylvain sharply admonishes himself. <em>Absolutely not. D</em><em>on’t think like that. You have a duty to your people, to your country, to your kingdom.</em></p><p>Yet, once he’s thought of it, the idea of defecting to the Empire lingers in the back of his mind. He’s torn between fighting in a war because of his birthright, his status as a Faerghus noble, and fighting in a war because of what he believes, his belief that no one should ever go through the hell that he did. </p><p>In the end, Sylvain shakes away such traitorous thoughts and works twice as hard in the war to prove to himself that he is loyal to Faerghus. No matter how much he hates his Crest, he would never turn his back against his home kingdom. He won’t turn against the people who’ve treated him right, even with his terrible reputation—Dimitri, Ingrid, Dedue, Ashe, Annette, and Mercedes. They’ve made him feel at home, and they didn’t really care about his Crest.</p><p>It’s not a matter of the Crest. It’s a matter of the heart. And Sylvain’s heart is here in Faerghus.</p><p>The war is draining for everyone. Gautier’s army seems to grow smaller with every battle, and the resources—what’s left of the scant resources they have, in a land where it is too frigid to reliably grow crops—seem to dwindle at an alarming rate. Rationing of food goes into effect immediately, and letters are sent out in desperate attempts to reach allies for help.</p><p>The Adrestian Empire is relentless. They do not yield. Their withdrawals never feel like surrender or loss or even; they feel like a pause so that they are able to gather more troops and try to take the territory. It’s that much more of a punch to the gut when Sylvain recognizes the general of the other army as one of his former classmates, Ferdinand von Aegir.</p><p>Sylvain never knew Ferdinand all that well, other than the fact that he was the pompous kid from the Black Eagle Class who liked to yell out his own name during mock battles and display his nobility, but he can tell you now that Ferdinand is one stubborn man. He fights and pushes his men to the brink, right up until the confidence of the Gautier army starts to shake and waver. Yet he also seems to care for his men, bringing them back when he notices his losses are a tad bit greater than he once expected.</p><p>But Sylvain’s just as stubborn as Ferdinand is. And he has the pressure of his father’s heavy hand on his shoulder.</p><p>No matter how hard either side fights, they seem to be at a stalemate. Ferdinand’s army may take a town or two, but Sylvain will work his ass off to reclaim them, lest his father find out that this loss was long-lasting. It’s like a gory, morbid dance—with every one step backward that Sylvain takes, Ferdinand mirrors him, taking one forward until Sylvain pushes him back and takes his own step forward. Lives are lost frequently to the ruthless combat as both commanders try to figure out a new strategy to win, though neither seem to be able to find anything that works.</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain’s running on fumes.</p><p>His dreams are plagued with the fear that he’ll lose his battles against the Empire, that he’ll get himself or his men or his friends, that he’ll let everyone down. His every waking moment is spent training and studying strategies against the Empire and restocking the army barracks and repairing weapons. His days are spent throwing himself headfirst into battle and his night are spent patching up his own wounds, those caused from the enemy and his father.</p><p>To be honest, the only thing keeping him sane is Felix.</p><p>Sylvain’s changed quite drastically since the war started, he knows. His flirty, laidback attitude has be stripped from him, leaving him with a hardened, serious expression. His voice, once light and playful, is now heavy with the weight of his orders, and he doesn’t have much to say anymore unless it’s related to the war.</p><p>Yet, he tries to keep himself upbeat for Felix. He throws on his smile and tries to slip back into that façade he’d had on through all his life. He’ll talk about anything as long as it keeps Felix’s worried face at bay—saying things like, <em>hey, do you like my new armor? this shade of blue looks like the kind you wear sometimes so we’re matching! </em>and <em>my hair’s getting kind of long lately, don’t you think?</em> <em>should I cut it? </em>and <em>man, I miss the monastery life!</em></p><p>Felix sees through it like he always does.</p><p>At first, it drives Felix crazy. He insists that Sylvain talk about what’s bothering him, that Sylvain just express himself for once, but Sylvain just smiled at him and told him, “I’m just tired.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t enough to sate Felix’s frustrated question. It got them into a few arguments, but the arguments always ended with Sylvain apologizing and promising to talk about his feelings, with Felix apologizing back and saying that he didn’t mean to lash out at Sylvain or force him to feel uncomfortable.</p><p>Sometimes, Sylvain will try to vent a little to Felix, as if to test the waters. But no matter what he says and no matter how kind and sympathetic Felix is, Sylvain hates that feeling of feeling so vulnerable. And more important than that, he hates the sympathetic frown that Felix will wear.</p><p><em>I never want to see you so conflicted,</em> Sylvain thinks.<em> I never want to see you so hurt.</em></p><p>They both tire of having the same arguments. They both tire of bickering back and forth about the other’s inability to talk about his feelings. Sylvain knows that Felix is going through a hard time too, since he’d vaguely mentioned his father, but Felix, in typical Felix fashion, makes nothing of it and puts on a stoic face. It’s the same as what Sylvain is doing. It’s the source of much of Sylvain’s counterarguments when Felix insists that Sylvain is hiding things from him.</p><p>"You're a hypocrite," Sylvain would tell him. "You tell me not to bottle up my emotions, but I know you do the same with all that stuff with your father. The war is hard on all of us. You included."</p><p>Felix would flinch and glower at him. He'd often never have a comeback, either stepping away from the argument or bringing back his old point again.</p><p>Eventually, Felix gets the hint that Sylvain isn’t going to speak on his feelings unless Felix does, and he resolves to simply shut up and does what he can to cheer Sylvain up without asking about how Sylvain is.</p><p>He’ll patch Sylvain up, though he’ll complain about it as he does so—<em>you’re so careless, Sylvain. </em>He’ll sneaks Sylvain fruits and little candies. Sylvain doesn’t know where Felix gets these, but Felix always brings him the sweetest Noa fruits and candies, holding them out for him to take as soon as Sylvain walks back into his room after a hard day. And at the end of the night, after Sylvain’s finished his battle strategies and after he’s prodded at Sylvain to try and get him to talk about his true thoughts on the war, he’ll crawl into bed with Sylvain to hold him silently, his arms wrapping around Sylvain and holding him close.</p><p>The war is heartless, cold, tiring. But with Felix at his side—watching over him during the war and staying with him at his room—Sylvain feels so loved, warm, soft. He feels human.</p><p>The first year of the war draws to an end with Gautier forces thinning as the Adrestian Empire, in greater numbers, starts to flood Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance. The first year of the war draws to an end with Sylvain realizing that he hadn't even gotten to celebrate his twentieth birthday and that the war looks nowhere close to ending.</p><p>Sylvain can only hope it ends soon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was <i>so</i> tempted to make Sylvain defect to the Empire, but the rest of the fic wouldn't hit as hard if I did... Looks like I'll have to write Crimson Flower!Sylvain in a different fic. &gt;:3c</p><p>This chapter was a real pain to write;;; I hope it doesn't seem too messy. My writing style's in a weird point of changing so if this chapter seems sloppy, that's why. ^^;; But now that I've got the chapter down, the next couple of chapters should be (hopefully) easier to write!! So keep an eye out for them! </p><p>Thanks for keeping up with godsend!! :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. the hunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Upon receiving unfortunate news of Prince Dimitri and Ingrid, Sylvain embarks on a journey to try and find his friends.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The second year of the war is marked with the loss of a few Gautier territories.</p><p>Ferdinand and his army push back relentlessly and mercilessly against Sylvain and his war-fatigued army, his numbers dwindling slowly with each and every battle. Sylvain simply isn’t able to recover with the few troops that he has, especially when he sees the toll of the war on his men. The dread. The grief. The frustration.</p><p>Ferdinand’s victorious smirk digs under Sylvain's skin, into his psyche, from across the battlefield after every encounter as he leads what's left of his men away. It doesn't help that Sylvain knows what awaits him when he returns home.</p><p>Needless to say, Sylvain nearly kills himself working to reclaim the lost land. This is in a very literal sense. Sylvain overworking himself both on and off the field contributes to him becoming tired, becoming careless. With such fatigue and carelessness comes injuries. Ugly wounds scar his body; sore muscles wrack him with pain. Felix is always quick to scold him for his carelessness, but he tends to Sylvain's wounds when he can with the gentlest touches and warmest looks.</p><p>And at one point, he even falls ill with a terrible fever after the stress of battle.</p><p>Through his hazy fever, Sylvain can only watch from his window as his father takes his spot as the general and marches his poor, weary men out to war. </p><p>Sylvain distantly hopes that his soldiers will be okay. His soldiers have expressed being terrified of the Margrave and his reckless war tactics.</p><p>“We prefer you,” one of the soldiers had told him. “You won’t bash our heads against the ground for saying something out of turn.” He sighed as a few of the other soldiers nodded along.</p><p>“That man is seriously a tyrant," another added. "He doesn't care about any of our lives. Just his own."</p><p>Sylvain could say nothing. He definitely didn't want to defend his father after what he's been subjected to throughout his life up until even now, but he knew that if he completely sided with his men aloud, morale may drop. Faith in their cause would peter out faster, leaving the Gautier land with whispers of mutiny and betrayal. All Sylvain could do is turn his back to his men, averting his gaze.</p><p>"He's not that bad," Sylvain lied through his teeth. "He's always just been a little rough around the edges. The war probably isn't helping with that. Now come on. Let's go home."</p><p>If the men knew that he was lying, they didn't say anything about it, quietly following him back to the Gautier estate.</p><p>Having the day off is a breath of air that Sylvain knows he needed, just a small day of lying back in his bed and sleeping as his wounds heal and as his body fights off his sickness—but his father undoubtedly sees it as an act of laziness. As if Sylvain is capable of consciously controlling his immune system.</p><p>At least it means that he gets to spend more time with Felix.</p><p>Felix scolds him quietly as he cares for him, as he always does when Sylvain comes back bearing wounds. After forcing Sylvain into bed and placing a cold, soaked towel against Sylvain’s forehead to kill the fever, Felix clicks his tongue.</p><p>“I knew you’d burn out like this,” he mutters. Sylvain shivers at the cold towel against his sweaty skin, but he lets out a small sigh of relief when his body starts to cool down. “You work too hard.”</p><p>“I don’t really have any choice,” Sylvain points out, his voice a terribly rasp. “If I don’t do this, we’ll lose the war. My father would kill me if I just let the Adrestian Empire take Gautier.”</p><p>"You wouldn't be letting them. You're doing all that you can." Felix heaves a loud and long-suffering sigh before he shoots Sylvain a withering look and muttering under his breath. “I’m going to kill your father."</p><p>Despite all that he's going through, Sylvain think that he would honestly hate if his father died right now. That would make him heir of the Gautier territory, and he would have to work even harder to keep up with the power vacuum left behind after his father’s death. He can barely keep himself alive as the margrave’s son. He doesn’t know how he’d manage if he had to take be the margrave. More lives would depend on him; more eyes would be on him.</p><p>But instead of telling any of this to Felix—Felix probably already knows, to be honest—Sylvain laughs a little and reaches out for Felix’s hand. He takes Felix’s hand and presses it to his face with a small smile.</p><p>Felix makes a face. “You’re still burning up.”</p><p>“Well, of course I am. I'm still sick. It's not like this fever is going to go away immediately, you know.” He pauses. “Hey, Fe. Do you think you can catch whatever I have?”</p><p>Felix huffs. “A human illness? Probably not. Why?”</p><p>“Oh, good.” Sylvain pulls Felix in for a kiss. Felix rolls his eyes but slides into bed beside Sylvain. Felix rolls onto his side to face Sylvain and reaches forward to brush the hair out of Sylvain’s eyes.</p><p>“Your hair's getting longer now,” Felix murmurs. His eyes dart from Sylvain’s hair to his eyes and then back up. “It’s getting in your eyes. How can you even see?”</p><p>Sylvain laughs. “I’m trying to grow it out like you,” he jokes. "I tie it in the back just a little when I go out to fight." He grins. </p><p>He has no idea how Felix can manage having so much hair, but he’s happy that he can. It means that there’s more for Sylvain to run his fingers through, more to toy with in his hands when he wakes up in the morning before he needs to leave for the battle, the worst part of the day by far.</p><p>Felix’s face visibly contorts into one of disgust. “Don’t. That wouldn’t suit you at all.”</p><p>Sylvain gives an amused hum. “Then what would?”</p><p>Felix hesitates but lets himself play a little with Sylvain's hair, parting it a different way and brushing it back. When Felix parts Sylvain's hair down the middle, brushing it away from his face, Sylvain sees a slight pang of something in Felix's eyes. Something soft, admiring. </p><p>Attraction. </p><p>It's in that moment that Sylvain knows how he wants to do his hair.</p><p>Felix's cheeks turn a touch pinker as he clicks his tongue and pulls his hands away from Sylvain's hair. Sylvain's eyes trail longingly after Felix's hands as they retreat from him. "It's hair. Do whatever you want. Just make sure it doesn’t impede on your fighting. It doesn’t even need to be changed unless if affects your fighting.” Felix sighs. “Only a complete moron would value what he looks like during a literal war.”</p><p>It’s enough to draw a smile from Sylvain.</p><p>Felix has always been enough. More than enough. </p><p>The very next day, though Sylvain’s cold is still circulating his body, he’s dragged out of his room and into the council room, where he’s presented with the results of the battle and asked to come up with a new strategy. And the day after that, he’s put on a horse and sent out to fight off the Adrestian Empire, all the while Felix watches him leave disapprovingly from Sylvain’s bedroom window, his lips pulled down into a grim frown.</p><p>-</p><p>His father sends out letters to House Galatea and the smaller, minor noble houses nearby, but none are able to provide troops. They themselves are being overwhelmed with the Adrestian troops at their territories—and being much smaller than Gautier doesn’t help. Margrave Gautier ends up reluctantly enlisting the work of some mercenaries.</p><p>Sylvain himself writes letters too, though it’s less about the war and more about checking up on his friend. He’d learned from his father that Ingrid was back in Faeghus, trying to defend her home, and since then, he’s been in contact with Ingrid, sending letters and asking how she is. She seemed quite ecstatic to hear from Sylvain, considering that she's also had trouble catching up with some of the other students from the Blue Lions class.</p><p>Ingrid describes the war from her home. Forces march up from Garreg Mach and from territories in the Leicester Alliance, just past the Oghma mountain range, towards her meager territory. What troops don’t attack Galatea outright head straight for Fhirdiad—and what’s left after that comes for Sylvain in the Gautier territory. She claims that House Galatea has been struggling to keep up with the barrage of troops, that her people have been starving, but Sylvain can still see the fighting spirit in Ingrid’s spidery handwriting, in her anger-filled words.</p><p>Ingrid’s always had a habit of holding onto her pen quite tightly and bearing down on the paper quite hard—much harder than Sylvain did, but not hard enough to snap the pen in two or rip through the paper like Dimitri tends to. Sylvain used to tease her endlessly for it—<em>who are you mad at, Ingrid? what’s got you bearing down so hard on that poor pen?</em>—but now, seeing such a familiar trait just makes him feel so warm and happy. It’s like a clear sign that Ingrid’s alive and that she’s still maintaining her personality. It’s like she’s taking her frustrations about the war out on the poor pen and paper, and it’s just so <em>Ingrid</em> that it brings a small smile to Sylvain’s face.</p><p>Felix doesn’t seem to think much of Ingrid’s letters, but he gladly listens to Sylvain read the letters and speak of his friend. <em>That’s so Ingrid,</em> Sylvain would say with a small smile. <em>She hasn’t changed at all, even with a war going on.</em> Felix never says much in response, but he seems to savor what little joy that Sylvain shows, his eyes trained on Sylvain’s little smiles and chuckles as he pens back a response. While Felix has no true connection to Ingrid, he doesn’t mind ‘helping’ Sylvain write back.</p><p>And by 'helping', Felix simply sits at the edge of Sylvain’s desk and watches as Sylvain writes, occasionally trying to dispute Sylvain's spelling or critiquing his handwriting. It's not much, but Sylvain enjoys having him around nonetheless. He always does. As long as Felix is with him, Sylvain is happy.</p><p>So he's alright. He’s found Ingrid. He has Felix with him. Now all he needs to do is find the rest of his class, starting with their precious Prince Dimitri. Once he’s made sure that everyone’s alright, he can relax.</p><p>Sylvain sends out letters to Fhirdiad and waits.</p><p>But no letters ever return to him.</p><p>-</p><p>House Galatea falls in the fourth year of the war. Ingrid's letters start to come slower. Ingrid's handwriting becomes harsher, more illegible. It's rushed, like she's constantly trying to get the letters out of the way so she can tend to more pressing matters. Sylvain tells her to reply when she can.</p><p>But soon after the fall of Galatea, Ingrid stops replying to his letters. His messengers, once deft with his correspondence with his friend, now return with his letters, handing them back to him and claiming that they couldn’t find Ingrid at what’s left of House Galatea.</p><p>Simply put, it freaks Sylvain out.</p><p>He asks his father to let him check up on House Galatea. His father says no.</p><p>“We don’t have enough resources to even feed our own people. You think we have enough resources to protect House Galatea?” Margrave Gautier scoffs. “Pay attention to what’s around you. Pay attention to Gautier before you go sticking your nose in Galatea’s business.”</p><p>It doesn’t stop Sylvain from trying to get to House Galatea. He writes letters again and again. No response. Letters are brought back to the sender with pitying and guilty looks.</p><p>Sylvain takes matters into his own hands. He tries to ride out to see Ingrid in the middle of the night, sneaking out of his room and heading to the stables, only to find that his father is waiting for him. </p><p>Sylvain winces. "Father." He tries to keep his voice as level as he can. "What are you doing out so late?"</p><p>"That's what I should be asking you." His father crosses his arms. "I heard from the maids that you snuck out."</p><p>Needless to say, Sylvain gets chewed out by his father for a while. His father repeats the whole spiel that House Gautier is unable to help House Galatea. As it did before, the words go in one of Sylvain's ear and come out the other. Sylvain simply argues back, insisting that it’s Gautier’s duty to check up on its allies.</p><p>It earns him a swift strike to the face, one so strong that it physically sends Sylvain stumbling back as blood starts to drip from his nose. His hands instinctively fly up and hover around his tender nose. He leans his head back to try to slow the flow of blood.</p><p>“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” his father spat at him. "Go to your room. I don't want to see you until we reconvene for the strategy meeting in the morning. If I hear any more subordination from you, I won't be nearly as lenient with you."</p><p>With that, Sylvain's father whirled around, turning on his heel and storming off back towards the Gautier estate without another word.</p><p>Sylvain dragged his feet up to his room. Every step sent guilt and anxiety churning through him. It seems like it's going to be one hell of a sleepless night.</p><p>Felix is waiting for him in his room, sitting on his windowsill. When Sylvain enters, Felix wordlessly makes his way to him, anger in his expression. He suppresses his anger and instead takes Sylvain by the hand, sitting him down at his desk.</p><p>“Fuck your father."</p><p>Sylvain only offers a wry scoff in response, his lips pulled into a sarcastic smirk.</p><p>"I hate him." Felix sighs when Sylvain responds with silence. Instead of pushing on about his father, Felix changes the subject. "Ingrid seems capable from what you’ve told me,” Felix reasons, dabbing the blood away from Sylvain’s nose and healing it as much as he can. “She went to your academy. She learned under that weird professor of yours. If she's anything like you, she should be at least somewhat competent enough to protect herself. She ought to be fine. So... Stop your worrying.”</p><p>Felix's eyebrows are drawn in with worry. His fingers lightly dance down Sylvain's cheek and follow his jawline. </p><p>"Stop your worrying," Felix repeats again, a little stiltedly. "Worry about yourself."</p><p>Sylvain appreciates Felix’s words, but there’s nothing stopping his brain from assuming the worst. He just smiles at Felix.</p><p>He shoots up in bed countless times in the middle of that night. Nightmares of poor Ingrid crying out for Sylvain to come and help her or of her body lying lifelessly on the ground amidst a sickening amount of blood taunt him and leave him delirious. Felix always coaxes him back to bed, pulling him into his arms silently until Sylvain’s heart stops racing. Sylvain clings to him tightly and shuts his eyes tightly, trying to stifle the way his panicked pants escape his lips.</p><p>Sylvain can't help but to feel bad. Felix seems like everything is tiring him out too. The bags under his eyes are darker, heavier. His skin looks paler; his eyes look wearier. He looks older. He's slowly becoming more and more pugnacious. Yet, he won't say what's wrong.</p><p>All Sylvain knows is that when Felix isn't physically with him, he's with his father. All he can assume is that his father is stressing him. But Felix won’t say what’s bothering him so Sylvain doesn’t press him to.</p><p>So Sylvain does his best to bottle up what he can of his own worries to try and lighten Felix's load, even if Felix tries to argue that Sylvain's hiding something.</p><p>Sylvain just hopes that things get better. He hopes that somehow, Faerghus can pull itself together and dispel the Adrestian forces from within it. He wants the war to end so badly that it’s unreal, but with every passing day, his hope for the end of the war just grows dimmer and dimmer.</p><p>And the little flicker of his chest goes out completely when news of Dimitri’s capture and execution explodes across the country.</p><p>Immediately, as soon as the news drops, Faerghus civilians all take to the streets and mobilize in an attempt to avenge their beloved prince. Peasants and farmers and nobles alike find what weapons and armor that they can and form small armies. The Adrestians seemed a little shocked and put off by the ferocity of the Faerghus civilians, but they quickly become unfazed and cold, storming Fhirdiad and taking over, regardless of who they must kill to do so.</p><p>Sylvain’s feels rage and hurt envelop him when he hears of Dimitri’s death. He spends the whole day standing at his window and looking out at the vast Gautier territory, seeing people mobilizing and mourning openly. Children sob loudly as their parents prepare for an all-out war; the elderly pulls themselves out of their comfortable rocking chairs and get armed for the first time in their lives since they were young and able-bodied.</p><p>Sylvain doesn’t notice that he’s been clenching his fist so tightly that his nails dig into his palms and leave little sickle-shaped cuts, blood dripping from his hands and onto the ground. He won’t cry—he’ll stay strong for his friends, for Dimitri, for Ingrid, for Felix—but he feels like he wants to. He's lost not just the hope for the end of the war and the prince of his kingdom, but he's lost one of his closest childhood friends, right after the mysterious disappearance of another one, Ingrid.</p><p>He only feels worse when his father tells him that he can’t go to Fhirdiad.</p><p>“You must stay. Gautier must stand, even if the prince is gone,” Margrave Gautier informs him, stoically, matter-of-factly. “Gautier has always been a backbone of Faerghus. We are Faerghus’s last stand against the Adrestian Empire—if you really want to avenge Prince Dimitri, stay here and hold up Gautier.”</p><p>The margrave starts to walk away, but Sylvain feels his anger just boiling in his body, building and building with every little step that man makes—until he finally snaps.</p><p>“How can you expect me to just sit here after the prince of our kingdom just died?” Sylvain blurts. “People are rioting and sending out their family—sending the elderly and <em>children</em>—to die defending this country after Prince Dimitri died, and you still want me to sit here and protect some stupid plot of land that you own?”</p><p>Margrave Gautier stops sharply in his tracks and returns to Sylvain in but a few, angry strides. His eyes narrow, darken, glare. He holds his hand up, and Sylvain knows he’s really done it now. He can’t bring himself to care, though. Two of his closest friends are either dead or missing, and he’s just supposed to sit here like a pretty little soldier and do as Daddy says? Had it not been for Felix, Sylvain isn’t sure if he would want to be alive at this point.</p><p>“You ignorant, ungrateful piece of shit,” Margrave Gautier snarls, curling a fist in Sylvain’s shirt collar and bringing him close. Sylvain stares his father down, despite the little part of him, the childish part of him deep in his heart, that fears him and wants to shy away, run away, hide away. “Do you have any idea how important our territory is? To all of Faerghus?”</p><p>“More important than Prince Dimitri?” Sylvain asks with a wry smile that immediately fades. He can't even pretend to be amused. He's just <em>furious.</em> “More important than Fhirdiad? The Kingdom capital? The general public?”</p><p>Margrave Gautier slams his fist into Sylvain’s face, a hit so hard that Sylvain swears his teeth chatter. A sharp, sickening crack resounds, and pain explodes outward from the center of his face. Warm blood starts to spill from Sylvain’s nose, but Sylvain doesn’t stand down.</p><p>“I’m not going to just stay here and let people suffer like that—or let Dimitri’s death go to waste,” Sylvain tells him, his voice a little nasally. He lets out a small, pained breath pass through his lips and raises a sleeve to wipe away the blood from his nose, wincing at the pain of touching his broken nose. “I’m leaving the Gautier territory. And you can’t stop me.”</p><p>Sylvain recognizes the fury in his father's eyes after a childhood of trauma, but he stands with what he says. His father unleashes hell upon him.</p><p>Sylvain takes each and every blow with as much grace as he can, even as bruises bloom like ugly flowers across his skin and even as his skin splits and spills his blood like the breaking of a dam. When he’s knocked down, he gets back up with a defiant glare. The curses his father screams at him as he hurts him don’t hurt anymore.</p><p>They haven’t hurt for quite a while now.</p><p>After one particularly hard blow, throwing Sylvain against the wall, Sylvain decides it’s been enough. </p><p>“I’m leaving,” Sylvain tells his father again, stumbling back up to his feet and using the wall as a support. “I’m not going to stay here and twiddle my thumbs or play as your stupid general any longer. I’m going out to fight for Faerghus. Like I should have been doing this whole time.”</p><p>Sylvain turns to the door.</p><p>His father fumes. “Sylvain Jose Gautier,” he roars, “the second you leave through that fucking door, you lose your right to be a Gautier heir. You lose all support, financial and otherwise.”</p><p>Sylvain, limping towards the door, faces his father one last time. “Like you gave me support at any point in my life." He scoffs. “I don’t need or want your support.”</p><p>Then he leaves through the door.</p><p>-</p><p>To say that Sylvain’s whole entire body fucking hurts is one hell of an understatement<em>.</em> He’s pretty sure that his father’s fury left no part of him unharmed, from his face to his arms and legs to his ribs and his back. He knows he must look like shit, with blood smeared across his face and purple-black bruises marring his skin, and he knows that there’s a good chance that the odd, numb pain preventing him from moving his wrist or the tingly feeling in his ribs are probably signs of serious injuries.</p><p>Yet he isn’t all that worried. If anything, he’s… happy, in some kind of twisted way. After all, he can take comfort in the fact that his nose has stopped dripping blood by now and that there aren’t new bruises spreading across his skin in the same way that a plague rips through the land.</p><p>And he feels so much better that he’s cut his father out of his life—at least for the time being. Sylvain knows that Margrave Gautier won’t just let Sylvain slip away and end the Gautier bloodline, knows that his father will come up with some flimsy excuse or half-assed apology to make him come back, but that’s a problem for future Sylvain to deal with.</p><p>Sylvain makes his way to the stables. He knows that there are much of his belongings still in his bedroom, but he’s too eager to leave. He’s always been eager to leave this horrid house. He’ll pick up a lance along the way. He’ll find clothes. He’ll find something to eat, to drink. Somewhere to stay.</p><p>He’ll manage.</p><p>It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to get to the stables, having to stop every once in a while to catch his breath or rest his aching body, but when he gets there, a wave of shock, abrupt but strangely pleasant, rolls through Sylvain.</p><p>His precious horse is awake and has already been saddled up, standing and waiting for him. She is wearing her armor, and one of Sylvain’s travel bags, looking thick and full of <em>something</em>, hangs from her side. Even the Lance of Ruin is there, leaning on the stable wall.</p><p>Sylvain smiles tiredly as he unlocks the gate to her part of the stable. Lady plods up to him and with a gentle snort, she nudges at his hand, imploring him to stroke her soft fur. Sylvain indulges her, running his hand along her nose before wrapping his arms gently around her neck and burying his face in her mane. He carefully positions his head as to not get any of his blood on her or agitate any of his wounds.</p><p>“Hey, Lady,” he murmurs. “Didn’t expect you to be dressed up and ready to go. Did you get ready just for me?” He chuckles a little.  </p><p>"What else would she be doing? Fighting Adrestians without you?”</p><p>Sylvain blinks as Felix steps out from behind Lady, crossing his arms. Sylvain smiles instinctively upon the sight of his beloved guardian angel.</p><p><em>He did this,</em> Sylvain thinks warmly. <em>He prepared Lady for me.</em></p><p>Felix’s passive gaze shifts immediately from apathy to fury as he approaches Sylvain, but Sylvain can tell it’s not directed at him. Felix’s hands immediately come up to Sylvain’s swollen and bloodied face, gently caressing him as his eyes dart all over, trying to get a better look at his injuries. Soothing healing magic carefully seeps out from Felix’s fingertips. Sylvain sighs in relief and leans in against his touch.</p><p>“That man. He… <em>I’ll</em>…” Felix growls, but Sylvain just shakes his head, clasping his hands over Felix’s.</p><p>“It’s okay now. I’m okay. Promise. But we’re not staying here any longer, Fe.” Sylvain smiles at him. “Well, assuming you’ll come with me.” A brief pause. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?” Sylvain wonders if he should tell Felix how much he needs Felix. How Felix is all he needs, how he’s everything he’s ever wanted, how he’s everything that Sylvain will <em>ever</em> need. Nonetheless, he keeps his mouth shut, as to prevent anything from coming out of his mouth.</p><p>It’s a simple question. One that Sylvain already knows the answer to.</p><p>But Felix’s answer still makes Sylvain’s chest light up with joy.</p><p>“Don’t be stupid. Of course I am.”</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain rides all morning, but he feels fine. After all, Felix is there with him, slowly healing what he can of Sylvain’s injuries as Sylvain leads Lady out of Gautier and toward House Galatea. It’s a silent ride, but one that Sylvain doesn’t mind even in the slightest.</p><p>He just wishes that Felix had more to say. Sylvain’s mind is a terrible wreck of thoughts. Guilt of abandoning the men that hate his father just as much as he did. Fear of what he had just done. Terror that he won’t be able to find Ingrid or Dimitri, despite abandoning his family. He wouldn’t mind hearing Felix’s soothing voice right about now. Talking about anything. Swords. Cats. Spicy and savory food that they shared together. <em>Anything.</em></p><p>But Felix stays silent, staring out ahead at the starry night sky before them. A pensive look on his face, one that doesn’t fade even when Sylvain gives him a questioning look.</p><p>Maybe about an hour away from the Galatea territory, Felix finally speaks up.</p><p>“My father… has taken up Glenn’s former position as the guardian angel of your prince.”</p><p>Sylvain turns to face Felix, raising his eyebrows. “What?”</p><p>Felix doesn’t meet his eyes, but Sylvain can see the stormy look settling there. “He’d taken to that position years ago. I don’t think I told you.”</p><p>Felix hadn’t. But there’s a more pressing concern of Sylvain’s. He’s speaking before he can stop himself. “Is Dimitri alright? Alive, I mean? I mean, after that execution, he’s said to be dead, but… Is he really?”</p><p>Felix’s expression contorts. A look of pure disgust, anger. “The boar lives,” Felix answers coldly.</p><p>Sylvain lets out a small sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived. Anxiety fills him quickly enough. Why had Felix reacted in such a way? He thinks of Glenn. Of Felix crying and crying and crying after his brother’s death. Of Felix’s joy and warmth slipping away. Of Felix’s father dying. There’s no way that Sylvain could possibly comfort him through something like that, he thinks.</p><p>Cold dread seeps into his veins. “Then… Then is your father…?”</p><p>Felix clicks his tongue. “My old man’s fine.”</p><p>Sylvain relaxes a little. “That’s good to hear.” He pauses. There’s more to this. There’s a reason why Felix brought this up. Felix is upfront about several things, but he’s never truly upfront about how he feels. Sylvain knows this. “And I’m guessing that this has to do with you feeling overwhelmed lately?” he guesses aloud.</p><p>It’s a logical conclusion, Sylvain thinks. Felix has been spending more time with his father. Dimitri’s been in more and more compromising situations, leaving him in very dangerous places. Felix’s father has to be protecting him. So wouldn’t it make sense that Felix’s father is stressed and Felix is too?</p><p>Felix doesn’t respond, instead looking up to the stars.</p><p>Sylvain decides not to press on it, but his mind is made up. Felix’s father is doing something to upset Felix.</p><p>But after a beat, Felix whispers something so faintly that Sylvain’s almost sure that he imagined it. It’s such a small, sad, surprising, especially from Felix, but that one phrase from Felix’s lips falls upon Sylvain’s heart like a dagger piercing through him.  </p><p>“Glenn...” is all that Felix says, his voice a mere wisp that fades immediately into the frigid air around them. As the soft puff of his breath dissipates into the cold air, his words seem to leave with it.</p><p>Sylvain isn’t sure what to make of this. Does Felix miss his brother? Is he calling out for him? Is this supposed to be an answer of some sort to Sylvain’s guess? Sylvain has no idea. All he knows is that he can pick up that hurt in Felix’s voice and that he wants to do anything in his power to protect him from that feeling.</p><p>“Glenn?” Sylvain prompts gently, trying to meet Felix’s eyes. Felix looks so tired. Sylvain wants to gently run his thumbs over Felix’s eyelids and let him rest, let him sleep, if only for a little bit.</p><p>Felix shakes his head. “No. It’s… it’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” He meets Sylvain’s eyes briefly, but in that brief moment, Sylvain can see the walls around Felix slowly crumble as the hurt slowly, slowly fades out of his eyes.</p><p>“You can tell me anything, Felix. You know that, right?”</p><p>“I know.” Felix averts his gaze and starts to backtrack. “It’s just that in times like this, with all that stupid Dimitri stuff going on, I just—Glenn… I just miss him sometimes, I guess.”</p><p>Sylvain feels his heart break at such softness, at such vulnerability from Felix. Yet, he’s not sure what he can say to particularly make Felix feel any better. Felix doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood to hear any kind of cliché preaching and feel-good comments, and Sylvain doesn’t want to give him that anyway.</p><p>So Sylvain reaches for Felix’s hand. Felix takes it quietly, leans in against Sylvain, and resumes staring up at the sky as Lady carries them both into the Galatea territory.</p><p>-</p><p>The Galatea territory is nothing like Sylvain remembered.</p><p>Many of the buildings have been razed to the ground, leaving ashes staining the pure white snow. House Galatea no longer proudly flies the flag of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Instead, a vibrant red flag flies at the estate, at every outpost and city, at the outskirts of the territory.</p><p>And most importantly, Ingrid isn’t there.</p><p>Horrifyingly, Sylvain manages to find an injured Pegasus without a rider lingering near Ingrid’s family home. The Pegasus’ wounds seem to have healed, though no one had ever treated the wing pierced by an arrow nor the wound in its joint. Sylvain hopes off of Lady and hurries to the Pegasus.</p><p>His heart sinks lower and lower into his stomach when he finds the Galatea insignia on the saddle. And dread consumes him entirely when he sees a letter addressed to Sylvain, bent and torn and stained by melted snow and blood and ash, sitting atop the saddle. Sylvain grabs the letter with shaky hands and tries to read it.</p><p>The letter has been through hell and back. Sylvain can hardly make out a single word. The familiar scribbling of Ingrid’s handwriting that once brought him comfort now only fills him with dread and despair.</p><p>Sylvain falls to his knees and crushes the letter in his hand.</p><p>“Where is she?” he asks aloud. The Pegasus nudges him gently. “Where did she go? Did she leave you behind?” He pats her head, but the Pegasus doesn’t react, only leaning into his touch. Sylvain feels a lump forming in his throat. Warmth starts to rise up into his chest, into his cheeks. “Ingrid—where is she?” he asks, near deliriously.</p><p>“Sylvain.”</p><p>Felix sets a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder.</p><p>“She might be alive still. Don’t assume the worst.”</p><p>"Don’t assume the worst? <em>Don’t assume the worst?</em>” Sylvain feels himself practically shaking with rage as he stands up and faces Felix. “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do when I see Ingrid’s Pegasus here without her? With this letter for me on it? With the Pegasus <em>injured</em>?”</p><p><em>I’m not upset with you</em>, Sylvain wants to tell him. <em>I’m upset with myself. I’m upset that I couldn’t protect Ingrid. I’m sorry for raising my voice. I don’t mean it.</em></p><p>He doesn’t apologize. He glues his gaze to the letter in his hands instead. His eyes dance over the smeared and stained text, straining his eyes to try and make anything out of it. He can see his name and maybe the word ‘Adrestia.’ That’s it.</p><p>Felix narrows his eyes. “Fine. Despair if you want, but just know that you shouldn’t just jump to conclusions.” Felix crosses his arms and starts to make his way back to Lady. He pauses briefly before getting on her, turning to Sylvain. “If I were you, I would refuse to accept her death unless I found her corpse myself.”</p><p>Sylvain stares at Felix, surprised, but if he thinks about it, Felix's reaction is something he should have expected. Felix doesn't want him to be self-deprecating, and if Sylvain has an outburst at him, Felix will be just as cold in return.</p><p>He watches as Felix, with a small hop and a strong flap of his wings, gently sits atop Lady again. He puts his hands in the sleeves of his angelic robes and stares up at the sky again, though the hurt, faraway look from earlier is not there. He simply looks disinterested.</p><p>It’s then that Sylvain realizes something. Felix’s hair is shorter.</p><p>His hair isn’t in a neat bun or flowing luxuriously behind him anymore. It’s mercilessly short and pulled into a small ponytail at the back of his head, the rest of his hair piled on one side.</p><p>Has it always been like that? When did Felix cut his hair like that? Why?</p><p>And how hadn’t Sylvain noticed?</p><p>No, this isn’t the time to think of something like this. Sylvain snaps his attention back to Ingrid.</p><p>He doesn’t want to believe that she is dead. He wants to think that she’s out there somewhere, fighting like she’s done all her life. He wants to think that she’s holding out long enough to find her friends and get help.</p><p>Ingrid is stubborn. She is strong. She is a fighter.</p><p>Ingrid has to be alive.</p><p>Sylvain clings to the hope, the thought, that Ingrid is alive despite everything that he’s seen. He follows Felix back onto Lady after quickly treating the Pegasus’ leg and wing with a vulnerary and tucking the letter in the satchel that Felix prepared for him. Felix gives Sylvain a brief once-over, concern evident in his gaze despite the unimpressed look on his face. His hand almost instinctively darts out towards Sylvain, but he stops himself.</p><p><em>Are you okay?</em> Felix’s eyes ask. <em>I’m here for you, you know.</em></p><p>Yet what Felix says instead is a simple, “You’re here.” He tucks his hand back into his sleeves.</p><p>Sylvain only smiles. “You’re right, Felix,” he says as he spurs Lady forward. His heart burns with despair and fear, and the panic in his body hasn’t entirely subsided—but he knows he has to press onwards. “Ingrid is strong. And she wouldn’t just die, right? There’s no way she’s died. And I won’t accept this unless I find concrete proof.”</p><p>A scoff. “Good. Glad to see you came to your senses,” Felix replies, but the way that his arms snake around Sylvain’s waist and the way that Felix gently presses his forehead and eventually his lips against the little crook between Sylvain's neck and shoulder, where a tiny bit of his skin shows, betrays the coldness and the vexation in his voice.</p><p>-</p><p>Sylvain and Felix venture around the large expanse of Faerghus keeping an eye out for whoever they can recognize.</p><p>They have no true destination. Sylvain knows that Fhirdiad isn’t safe despite his belief that Annette and Mercedes, and maybe even Dimitri, could be there. The sheer amount of Adrestian soldiers crawling around in that place is enough of a deterrent for Sylvain not to even think about going there. Sylvain by himself—well, Sylvain with Felix technically—isn’t strong enough to take down such a strong hold on the city. And he isn’t sure where Ashe or the professor are. Sylvain’s pretty sure that Professor Byleth died during that first brutal skirmish that separated everybody.</p><p>Nowhere is safe.</p><p>No, that’s not true. Sylvain is safe. He is always safe, as long as Felix is with him.</p><p>So Sylvain heads around Faerghus with Felix by his side. Most of the time, he keeps a low profile, but when he must, he fights. Sylvain stands beside citizens of Faerghus and helps to defend their small cities and towns from Adrestian forces, hoping to find somebody that he recognizes or hear of someone who may have seen one of his friends. No such luck, though Sylvain does get a little information about potential sightings of Dimitri by people who swear that he is still alive despite the execution and people who swear to have seen him.</p><p>While he’s being led on this wild goose chase to track Dimitri, he protects towns and protects his love. He shares his food with Felix, even if Felix insists that as an angel, food isn’t a necessity. He curls up with Felix against Lady, Felix wrapping his wings around himself and Sylvain, as they sleep where they can. He speaks with Felix, expressing his concerns or simply to pass the time.</p><p>And when Felix isn’t with him, perhaps because his father called upon him or because Sylvain is in battle or with people who may see him, Sylvain misses him dearly. Sylvain carries on, but he collects little memories or stories to share with Felix, whether it’s a rare winter flower from Faerghus or an amusing anecdote. Felix takes these anecdotes and gifts in typical Felix fashion—<em>focus on the war, will you?—</em>but the temporary feeling of normalcy is simply cathartic for Sylvain.</p><p>And thus ends year four of the war, with a wild and fruitless hunt for Crown Prince Dimitri and the rest of the Blue Lions.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this took a while to come out and the pacing's a little wonky. i'm not entirely sure if i'm happy with this chapter <s>it's been sitting in my drafts and being a pain for so long shdjfkhlh so i might come back and redo parts of it</s> but hey!! it's done!! hopefully the next chapters will be better &gt;:3c</p><p>thanks for reading!!</p>
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